Kirra's Journey - Episode 4: The Longest Journey
by Jennyslaw
Summary: Feeling lost and without purpose after her misadventure in Euboea, Kirra sets off for the only other place she ever felt useful—to Endor and to her mother, Meriba. Obstacles on the road of her hastily made plans leads Kirra to new faces and into the destined path of Hera, Queen of the gods. (Side story to HTLJ episode "Not Fade Away.")
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _Hercules the Legendary Journeys_ and its characters belong to _MCA/Universal_ and _Renaissance Pictures_. The Kirra's Journey series is a profit-free endeavor to have fun with the characters and pass it on to my readers. The character of Kirra, however, and any other original characters in this series belong solely to me. I do have future episodes completely planned taking Kirra throughout the entire television series. So, any ideas you may have for additional episodes would be great (and subject to author's approval, of course).

This episode of _Kirra's Journey_ is a side story to the _HTLJ_ episode "Not Fade Away."

In the research I did for this episode, I realized I made a mistake in the last chapter of _Outsider Looking In_. I mentioned that on a distant hilltop were the graves of Hercules's wife and children, and that Kirra had visited them once out of curiosity and respect. According to the episode, _Not Fade Away,_ their graves are located on a distant hilltop, but the location is in Thebes, not Corinth where Alcmene moved to live with Jason. As soon as I possibly can, I will make the correction to that chapter. I apologize.

* * *

 ** _Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey_**

* * *

 _Chapter 1_

It sat atop the clouds. Tall spires of gold-flecked stone reached into the blue sky. Great arched monuments nestled precariously on jagged mountain peaks, and glorious sunlight reflected from its many windows. At night, stars brightened pathways of the purest marble. Distant nebulae gathered like cloud formations, their billowy brightness shimmering across walls of refined gold.

Mount Olympus.

This is where she made her home…for the most part. Her slippered feet glided upon a pale marbled pathway which stood in direct contrast to the iridescent hem of her long and flowing black dress. Others came and went along the same path. They stopped in their tracks, curtsied or bowed before her, as they should. She was after all the supreme goddess, the patron of marriage and childbirth, and Queen of all Greek gods. Many idiot mortals had ascribed to her such sacred animals as the cow, but the one she was most proud of, the one she touted in her look as well as in her calling card, was the peacock.

"Hera, my Queen!" came a call from behind. It brought her to a halt.

Yes, it was her name. Hera, wife of the King, the treacherous Zeus. Yet, she did not quite appreciate the manner in which he pronounced her name. Not here. Not out in the open with the sun above casting its blinding light on her day. She had been on her way to see Zeus. She had been _summoned,_ and though she knew quite well what it was about, she was not looking forward to the confrontation. Some forms of vengeance must remain secret even if her scheming was already well known. But this…this calling of her name was ill mannered and uncalled for.

Hera turned a pair of icy eyes, as cold as the fingers of death, to the source of the voice. Had he not wore the color of one of her honor guards—red, the color of blood—she might have smote him where he stood.

"Yes?"

Bowed low, seeking her favor, the honor guard extended toward her a note. Hera snatched it and shooed the man away. The note was of iron and the words upon it had been emblazoned with the heat of a forge. What it read was undeniable, curling Hera's lips into an insidious smile.

" _It's ready."_

She turned from her path toward the King's throne. Zeus could wait.

* * *

Unlike her lesser counterparts, Hera did not appear or disappear at will. She preferred the long road to her destination. Appearances were inconsequential if you weren't present. Hera preferred to be seen. However, in the case of her new destination, it would not do to take the long road. She had no desire to traverse the steep steps of Mount Olympus to descend into the land of the mortals. Yet, nor would she zap out of space and time in front of a crowd of onlookers.

Hera exited to the comfort of her own chamber high in the tallest spire of her kingdom, through double doors made of the finest oak and over floors of the cleanest ivory. She shooed away all her attendants save for two of her most trusted honor guards. Spears in hand, they took their station beside her and without even a flick of her finger or a wrinkle in her brow, the three of them disappeared in a spectrum of electricity and color.

Deep in the bowels of the earth, she reappeared, smirking reprehensibly at her surroundings. The ambiance here held none of the riches of her home far above. Her slippered feet glided not upon marble or ivory but crunched in black dirt. Walls of rock surrounded her in a tunnel made black with soot. As she descended further, sconces of flame leading her forward, Hera eventually entered into a chamber made bright only by the roar of a kiln.

The space was sparsely decorated save for the fruits of his labor. Spears and swords held fast to their iron racks in one alcove, and in another iron shields in a dozen shapes and sizes held fast to the black rock wall. Tunnels branched away at either side. She knew not where they led. Hera very rarely ventured any further than the main chamber.

In the center, sat a throne of iron and stone. Three spires of stone made up its back, etched into the semblance of stone wings, showcasing its master's craftsmanship. Beside it, a golden bust formed into a likeness more than familiar to Hera. She frowned at the sight of it, for the bust was of her stepdaughter, Aphrodite.

"Hephaestus," she said into the gloominess of the chamber. The place was a tomb, and fittingly so. The god of fire, a man she struggled to call son, was content to rot in it. She called his name once again, louder this time. "I am here. Show yourself."

The crunch of feet on a sandy floor greeted her ears. From one of the tunnels, Hephaestus appeared dressed in his ragged best of leather and metal. It suited one so disfigured. Were it not for his scar and his disabilities, one might call Hephaestus handsome. Hera could not see it. She was certain he had been born out of her hatred for Zeus. To look at him was to be reminded of it.

"Mother," he said, lowering his bright blue eyes in her presence.

Hera regretted that he felt the need to do so. His eyes were the only other light in the room, and so like her own. Hephaestus limped across the chamber, past the kiln and the exquisite art that was his throne, and came to stand beside her.

"Did you get my message?"

"Yes," she said, her voice an eerie echo in the enclosed space. "I take it you've finished."

"It's taken some time," he said, his shoulders lowered, as had been those of the honor guard who had delivered the note. Always seeking her favor, Hephaestus was, seeking the love of a mother who cared little for showing motherly affection. "I apologize for my slowness."

Hera slipped passed him, running a hand over a newly crafted sword laid across an anvil, and took her seat in the only rightful place for her. Her son's throne. The honor guards took station at either side of her. "What of your new apprentice, my son?" she asked, throwing in a seldom used epithet. "The one I gifted you after the loss of Iagos. Has he not assisted you?"

A figure appeared from a separate tunnel, but unlike Iagos who had been short and rotund and incapable of silencing his overactive tongue, this man was a taciturn beast. He was no leaner than her son's original slave, but he made up for it in brawn and sheer strength, as well as a penchant for speaking only when spoken to. Hera smiled at him, and though he didn't return it, there was comfort in knowing he might soon become a useful ally.

"Yes, my Queen," Hephaestus answered. "Ahriam has performed well. He has helped me to complete your newest weapon."

Hera returned her gaze to the fire god. "So, it _is_ complete, then?"

"Yes," he said, lowering his gaze. "You need only to give it life."

Ice-blue eyes fairly glowed with anticipation. "Show me."

"As you wish." Hephaestus bowed, but did not return his gaze to his mother. Her lust for vengeance was as bright as the rays of the sun. "However…it will require the strength of us both to bring it into the world."

Hera raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. I see you've planned this quite well, Hephaestus. With a portion of your power, you have partial control."

"Of course not," he answered with a vigorous shake of his head. "I merely give it form. It is you who must give it breath. I only ask that you…use it wisely. It can be destructive…and vindictive."

Hera's suspicion morphed into a smile of great pleasure. "Perfect," she said and rose from the throne. "What do I need to do?"

With a sigh, Hephaestus led her toward the flaming kiln. Though he knew the heat would not harm her, he kept her from getting to close with a cautious hand. They would need the distance when it arrived.

"Here," he said and extended his arm toward the flame. "Concentrate your power in the center of the flame." He watched her raise one black-clad arm, the orange reflection of flame dancing across the iridescent fabric like Sprites on a dark night. Before she began, he rested a cautious hand upon the fabric. "Please, Mother," he said, hoping this title would calm her vengeful desire. "Promise me you will not use this against mortals."

It had the opposite effect.

Hephaestus had become used to the heat of flame, enjoyed the warmth of it, the way it radiated throughout the entirety of the cavern and filled him with a sense of reassurance in a way Mount Olympus, with its blinding sun and brilliant blue skies, never could. Yet, he would never grow accustomed to the chill of hatred that flowed from his mother. Her ice-blue eyes were colder than either of the northern or southern hemispheres. They chilled his fingers where they rested on her arm and sent tendrils of ice through his veins, up his arm, to his shoulder and then to his very face when her eyes met his.

"Take your hand off me," she said in a register so low no one heard it but he alone.

Hephaestus did so immediately, turning away from her freezing gaze. There was no hope for it, and he knew he had no choice. He raised his arm, sending a bolt of his power into the kiln, waiting for his mother to do the same.

As the god of fire, Hephaestus's power represented itself in flame, but Hera was no mere god. She was their Queen and with that title came a greater power. Without her son's halting hand and whining about mortals, she could turn her full attention to the business of revenge. That revenge could come from the power of her own hand. From it came a bolt of golden electricity. It was the spark of life needed to bring her plans to fruition. Zeus would not win this time. He would soon know the pain of loss the way she had. This time would not turn out like the last. Her vengeance would be sated.

Doubling her efforts, Hera poured all her power into the flame. Soon, within it a bright point of light began to manifest itself, growing in size exponentially until it eclipsed the kiln and came forward, solidifying into the familiar shape of a mortal human female.

Hera smiled. This was no ordinary woman standing before her. This was the very representation of flame and ice, its sinewy muscles rippling with the power of two gods. Hair of flickering flame and eyes the blood red color of vengeance, its body was strong, like that of a tiger.

Becoming cognizant of its surrounding, their creation examined not the rock walls or the sandy floor or the kiln from which it came. It looked down at its hand and clenched its fist, examined the muscles in its arm and flexed its bicep, testing its abilities and reveling in the flow of sentient life now coursing through its veins.

"My new Enforcer," Hera said, drawing its attention. The moment they locked eyes, she felt its reverence like a flow of energy. "What can she do?"

"She is flame," Hephaestus said, his voice strong with the pride of his creation, but there was regret in his expression. "Pierced with a sword or sawn asunder, she can reform herself. She requires none of a mortal's needs, no food or water, and her fortitude is unlimited. She is virtually indestructible."

"Virtually?"

Hephaestus cast a remorseful glance his mother. "Even Hercules can be burned by flame."

With a laugh reminiscent of little girls with their toys, Hera clasped her hands and eyed her new toy with a gleeful smile. "She is perfect. What do I call her?"

"She requires no name," Hephaestus said.

Hera stepped forward and eyed her creation, raking her hands over muscles of pure power, over arms and shoulders and abdomen, her fingers burning from the heat of it. She circled it from front to back until she stood once more before it. Not once did it budge or protest the examining touch of her hand. It stared almost lovingly into her eyes, a firm and confident smile on its perfect face.

"Whom do you serve?" Hera knew the answer. She did not have to ask. It wasn't about knowing. She wanted to hear it.

With a voice as deep and resonating as roaring fire, it said, "I serve you, Hera, my Queen."

"And upon whom shall you exact my vengeance?"

In hatred, it matched Hera's insidious smile. She was a true child of evil. "Your vengeance, my queen, will be sated upon Zeus when Hercules is dead."

Hephaestus bowed and backed away. He allowed mother and daughter their moment, their combined laughter ringing through the cavernous chamber. This is what she had reduced him to. Cowed before a mother who no more loved him than she loved the thing he had just helped her to create. He had only been an implement to her. Even his own apprentice, Ahriam, derided him for his cowardice before Hera, but it was not his disdain that pained him. Another set of eyes watched from the darkness of a nearby tunnel. A head of golden curls ringed those lovely eyes, but within them blazed an anger that he felt as palpably as the heat from his kiln.

"This is just the start, my Queen," their burning creation spoke, oblivious of its second creator's concerns. "Soon, the backsliding in worship Hercules has helped to foster will end. No one will stand in our way. For you, Hera, will rule all of Greece!"

Yes, she would rule all of Greece, but most importantly, Hera would have her revenge. She would see Zeus brought low with the death of Hercules. Her new Enforcer was stronger, more invincible than the last. It will burn through whatever and whoever to find Zeus's most beloved son. Hercules will die, be the obstacle mother or brother, even imagined daughter…

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 **Enjoyed chapter one? Please let me know. Leave some feedback. You have no idea how important it is for a writer to hear from those who enjoy their hard work. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey  
_**

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" _The longest journey is the journey inward."_

 _~Dag Hammarskjöld_

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 _Chapter 2_

 _Each time on my leaving home_

 _I run back to my mother's arms,_

 _One last hold and then it's over._

 _Watching me, you know I cry,_

 _You wave a kiss to say goodbye,_

 _Feel the sky fall down upon me!_

Shaggy ears of barley clung to the end of Kirra's skirt. She knew them by touch. She had recently been strolling through neighboring barley fields, the palms of her hands running along the tops of their bristly stalks. A cool breeze and the warmth of the sun had been her only other companion for the afternoon. The trio had a calming effect, easing the ache of loneliness and the utter feeling of meaninglessness that had begun to wrap her in its web the last several months.

Now, with the sun falling behind the treetops and the sensation of the barley stalks a forgotten memory, the ache had returned. She plucked absently at the ears and kernels that had attached themselves to her skirt. She would not have known them by sight, her vision blurred as it was by tears. As she sat here, tucked discreetly between rows of Alcmene's corn, the words of the song came easily to her. It felt as if she hadn't sang in one hundred years, but on this day, she sang in earnest a lament to her one true friend—Meriba, her mother. 

_All I am, a child with promises_

 _All I have are miles full of promises of home._

Many miles they were. Lately, all she dreamt of was home, but what she remembered of her mother was a face bruised and broken, and eyes streaming silent tears. Her many promises—of breaking them loose, of getting them out of the predicament they had found themselves in—had come to nothing. They were apart. She hadn't spoken to her mother in nearly a year. No correspondence, no letters, mother had said, not until she knew the possibility for repercussions had passed. But, was she all right? Was she able to afford the roof over her head, or have the money to put food on her table? Worst of all, if it was safe to return home, how would Mother know where to find her? 

_If only I could stay with you,_

 _My trail moves on, you're gone from view,_

 _Now I must wait until it's over._

 _Days will pass, your words to me,_

 _It seems so long; eternity,_

 _But I must wait until it's over. *****_

"Go, Kirra, run," Mother had demanded while she had stuffed her daughter's arms full of clothing and scrolls. "Run and don't look back!"

Yet she _was_ looking back. Picking at the ears of barley that clung to her skirt like lonesome children, Kirra was beginning to think seriously of leaving Corinth, leaving behind everything she had gained here to return to Endor, to Mother.

In short, she wanted to go home.

"Kirra!"

Deeply she had sunk into this sullen reverie. The sound of her name in the distance nearly had Kirra jumped out of her skin. For a moment, she had been back at home with Mother working in the garden, pulling weeds and picking tomatoes for dinner. She had gone back to a time before _his_ influence in their lives, when it was just the two of them and they were happy. In the times since, Kirra had come to realize two things: one, there was no such thing as true happiness anymore, and two, she was a murderer and a fugitive. It's hard to come back from that.

"Kirra, where are you?" the voice that was distinctly Alcmene's called. "I can hear you singing."

With haste, Kirra wiped her eyes and got to her feet. "I'm here," she said, exiting the row of corn. On the back porch stood Alcmene, a smile on her face and several pieces of parchment in her hand. Kirra made her way with quick feet toward the house, a distance of some one hundred yards. The late afternoon's brisk breeze must have carried her voice to Alcmene's ears.

"It's so nice to hear you singing again," Alcmene said as Kirra neared the house.

When she first came to live with Alcmene, singing had been a part of her everyday routine. While she completed her chores, or helped Alcmene prepare meals, or on walks into town, she sang. Most often, she sang the songs Mother had taught her, but sometimes she sang the ones she wrote, the ones she still kept stored away in memory of Hercules and his labors. Her singing had been Alcmene's constant, and she had grown accustomed to the pleasant sound of Kirra's voice. Since her return from Euboea, Kirra found she had become silent and introspective. She could not voice her desperate feelings of sadness in song…until today. Today, Kirra knew what she wanted. She just didn't know how to tell Alcmene.

When she approached the house, Alcmene looked down from the porch above. Her joyful smile at Kirra's singing faded. "Are you all right?"

Kirra took the back steps slowly, one at a time, looking down at her feet. Her tears may be gone, but they had shown themselves in the red rings around her eyes. "I'm fine," she said. No, she could not tell her. Not now. Instead, she pointed to the parchment in her hands. "What do you have?"

Alcmene's smile returned. "Something that will cheer you up."

She handed over the first one, and Kirra knew immediately what it was. The texture of the parchment, the way in which it had been folded, and the wax seal in the center were all earmarks of The Academy in Thebes. The corners of Kirra's lips rose slightly.

"A letter from Benjamin," she said. The letter, at least, was something or someone connecting her to home.

"The first one in a couple of weeks. They must be keeping him very busy at The Academy for him to have gone so long without writing you." Alcmene gently pushed the envelope closer to her. "Go on. Read it."

"Later, perhaps. His writing is getting better, but it still takes a while to get the gist of it." Kirra pointed at the second parchment in Alcmene's hand, its seal broken and the folded portions open. "Did you receive another correspondence?"

At her question, Alcmene's smile knew no bounds. Her rounded cheeks rose and colored as red as apples. "This ought to cheer you even more. It's from Hercules."

The very sound of his name made Kirra's heart soar into the clouds, and yet…memories of the last time she saw him sent her heart plummeting to the very depths of the Underworld itself.

" _When I look at you, I see the little girl I lost…"_

His words could not have hurt any worse than if he had carved them into her heart with the tip of a blade. She had longed to hear him say something else, _anything else_ , but that. She had imagined their friendship blossoming into something more special than a father/daughter relationship. Not a day went by that it didn't ache like a freshly opened wound.

Kirra sighed and looked longingly over Alcmene's shoulder where the barley fields lay. She wasn't prepared to have Hercules back in her life again. She had scarcely gotten over him.

* * *

Thebes was roughly eighty miles to the North West, not nearly as far away as Euboea. Still, it was some distance for Alcmene to travel on foot. For her age, she was physically fit and she wasn't afraid of hard work. Her gardens and fields of produce being a testament to the fact. Nevertheless, it would take at least a day and a night to get there, even with the best sandals dinars could buy. Thus, a wagon ride was in order.

The weather was lovely this time of year. Cool fall air, a welcoming breeze and a warm noonday sun. They were perfect ingredients for a wagon ride into Thebes. Alcmene had prepared a sack lunch to take with them on the trip. Jason had loaded the wagon with blankets to set out for a picnic as well as for the chill of the early morning air. The steeds, gifts from the present King of Corinth for Jason's many years of reign, he made ready for travel by trimming and balancing their hooves.

It would prove to be an exciting trip…but not for Kirra.

Perhaps, several months ago, she might have felt giddy at the idea of traveling to a new city. Alcmene herself had said, "It will do you good to get out and see some place new."

Maybe that was true. The distraction would be good for her. She had never been to Thebes before. She had read of it. Reading, for Kirra, was like having been there. She lived the mythical birth of Thebes through the story of its founder, Cadmus, in her mind while tending to chores around the house as a girl: the special cow with a half-moon shape on its flank that led Cadmus to the very place where Thebes stands today, his battle and defeat of the water dragon of Ares, god of war, that guarded the Ismenian spring, and the subsequent order of Athena to plant the dragon's teeth into the ground, which spawned a race of fierce armed men known as the Spartoi. All but five survived the battle with Cadmus, and as a result, those left helped him build the Cadmeia, the citadel of Thebes. The story of Cadmus turned out not so well as Hercules's tales of battle. Ares viewed the water dragon as sacred, and thus Cadmus had to complete eight years of reparation to Ares for slaying his most favored monster.

Kirra had always seen Cadmus as weak in comparison to Hercules, for Hercules would never have bent his knees to Ares or any other god for doing what he felt was right.

Despite its shaky beginnings, and that it wasn't as sprawling a city as Corinth or Athens, Thebes' history, its culture and its people were rich and diverse. From what she understood, it sat within an open plain, bordered by Lake Hylica to the north and the Citheron Mountains to the south. The people traded in precious stones and wool. Colorful murals graced the walls of palatial buildings, and a great fortification of stone surrounded the city itself.

But to Kirra, its greatest claim to fame was not that of Cadmus or his doomed exploits. Thebes was the birthplace of Hercules. That alone made it worthy of a visit in Kirra's eyes. How she had often dreamed of traveling there, exploring and searching the city streets on a hunt for the home he had grown up in.

Alcmene had grasped her hand earlier in the evening, full of concern and an eagerness to see her happy again, and said, "What do you say to leaving Corinth behind for a few days?"

In his letter, Hercules had written to say that he and Iolaus would be arriving in Thebes within the next several days. He had asked if the three of them could meet them at "the old homestead." The idea of leaving Corinth for a short stay in Thebes sparked her interest, but not like it should have.

Hercules had added, "I want to show Kirra the house I grew up in as a child."

Were she the same girl who left Alcmene's home for Euboea, she might have been ecstatic to realize her very dream as a girl would come true. Now, the idea turned her stomach to mush. She still wanted to explore, to see a new place and discover all there was to learn of it, and make the trip to the Academy and see Benjamin again, but she knew it would only banish her melancholy thoughts for a short while. Hercules could not cure her of this lonely sense of futility, that her life was going nowhere and that she had made a mistake leaving her mother behind.

She had struggled most of the night in Alcmene and Jason's presence to maintain a happy expression. She was enthralled at the idea of taking a wagon ride to Thebes! Of course, she was!

But it was a lie and she had a feeling both of them knew it.

Now, in the wee hours of the morning, Kirra lay motionless in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing she could pace the floor of her upper room. Jason or Alcmene would hear if she did and come to check on her. Instead, she played a silent game of tug-of-war in her mind:

 _Go with them to Thebes and get over this silly fear you have of seeing Hercules again. Explore Thebes, spend a little of the dinars Jason had given you, see "the old homestead." See Benjamin again, and rekindle the special friendship that had reignited in Euboea._

 _No. I don't want Hercules to see me like this. He'll ask all sorts of questions in an attempt to get to the bottom of my sadness. And Iolaus…ugh! The last time I saw him, he'd thought it pertinent to throw in his two dinars about my "friendship" with Benjamin, and he had the nerve to continue calling me Princess Kirra after the incident in Attilas. I was so ready for him to leave, willing to set fire to his boots to make him move faster. And speaking of Benjamin…I don't know if I'm ready to see him again either. He wants too much…_

The negatives seemed to outweigh the positives.

Kirra sat up and looked at how she had dressed for the evening. She had not changed for bed. In fact, she had left her gown draped over the bedroom chair. _That settles it, then,_ she thought.

Tiptoeing barefooted toward the chest of drawers, Kirra withdrew a few items of clothing from one drawer and a satchel from another. At her desk, she scribbled a quick and emotionless note onto a piece of parchment. Once done, she set it onto her pillow, went quietly to the window and unlatched the lock. She thought of the last time she went to this window during the night, and the sight of Benjamin's face staring back at her, soft with moonlight and eyes full of longing.

He had taken her hand and said, "I wanted to be with you, _just you_ , one more time before I go."

Over the roof and down the opposite side of the house they went, so as not to awaken Alcmene or Jason. In her dressing gown no less, they went hand in hand into the woods. Kirra led him to all her favorite places where she liked to bask in the silence of nature. There, one heard nothing but birds and the scamper of squirrels, the gurgling of a nearby brook and the wind in the trees.

Kirra stuffed her boots into the satchel and stepped barefooted onto the roof, giving her room one last nostalgic glance. Then, with a sigh, she crept across the roof to the spot Benjamin had shown her. Jason was quite the inventor, like Daedalus. No, he hadn't built an aqueduct to divert fresh water from the lake behind the house to indoors, but he had manufactured a sluiceway to catch rainwater flowing from the roof of the house. It caught in the eves and flowed into a pipe which collected into a steel basin covered with latticed-worked wire to prevent debris from building up. Benjamin had shown her the best way to climb down, using the rivets that held the pipe in place as footholds. Donning her boots, she did as he taught her that night and made it to the ground without incident.

She didn't give the house a second look. As much as she loved Jason and Alcmene, and appreciated all that they had done for her, she was doing them a favor. Her moping had begun to smother the life that had once existed in their home.

Picking up her skirts, Kirra dodged toward the path she had worn into the woods. It was a safer path, off the main road and away from curious eyes, but it would lead her as surely as the other, and the moon above would light her way as well as any flaming torch. She thought of the night with Benjamin, how they walked hand in hand under the trees, the light of the moon above making strange shadows at their feet. They had talked of their shared memories, of running through the woods, and pilfering snacks at the local bakery, feeling like fugitives. They had been. Fugitives from normal life. They lived a life all their own. Kirra wanted that again—a life in which she didn't bemoan the ache of a broken heart, in which she wasn't someone's imagined daughter. She wanted a life that was all her own.

With a smile she hadn't worn in some time, Kirra ran down the path, holding out one hand to her side as if waiting for someone to take it, thinking of Benjamin and how he had kissed her under the moonlight.

For the first time in several months, Kirra felt free.

* * *

 *** "Evacuee" sung by Enya and written by Roma Ryan, it can be found on Enya's album _Shepherd Moons._** **Very pretty song. I recommend giving it a listen. However, I altered one word in the lyrics. In the song, the lyric goes, "My _train_ moves on, you're gone from view." Since there are no trains in this realm, it made sense to me to change it from "train" to "trail."**

 **Hope you enjoyed this next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey_**

* * *

 _Chapter 3_

The sun was but a glint on the horizon when Alcmene stepped out onto the front porch. Waiting for Jason to bring the wagon around, she breathed in the cool morning air. It would make for a pleasant ride. Inside, however, her heart was frozen.

The snort of horses and the rumble of wagon wheels greeted her ears. Jason came rumbling along, trying his best to look cheery as the sun dawned. He brought the wagon to a stop at the foot of the front steps to help Alcmene onto the wagon, but she stood still. Her eyes had caught sight of the two blankets in the back and her shoulders sank.

"Alcmene," Jason called softly, rising to his feet. "Take my hand."

When she turned her eyes to him, the heartbreak he saw within them moved him. There was little his wife did that did not move him. Her every expression held the deepest meaning, but nothing so much as when she despaired.

"Come on, now," he said, waving her forward. "Take my hand. You don't want to disappoint Hercules, now do you?"

Something akin to a smile appeared on her lips when she let him lead her onto the wagon. A smile of resignation, perhaps, but it went quickly away when she noted the basket of food at her husband's feet. The picnic she had planned would be nothing like the one she had imagined. In one gloved hand, Alcmene held the letter she'd found on Kirra's pillow. "I'm sorry," it read. "Don't be angry with me, but I can't stay here anymore. I feel locked in a cage. I don't belong here. Forgive me." She crushed the note within her hand and gave into her heartache. Tears flowed like that of a mother who had just lost a child.

"Alcmene," Jason said, his tone lightly scolding and yet comforting. Wrapping an arm around her, he brought her head to his shoulder and let her cry. He couldn't change what had happened any more than he could take back the letter they sent ahead of themselves letting Hercules know they would meet him and Iolaus in Thebes.

"Why would she do this?" Alcmene cried.

"Hard to say. I know she's been unhappy since she came back from Euboea with Hercules and her young friend. I don't know all the particulars. All I know is what she told me. She feels lost."

"But it doesn't make any sense. Why would she just leave? She knows I would help her deal with any problem she's having."

Jason lifted Alcmene's chin. "Maybe this is something Kirra needs to work out for herself. She's not a little girl, Alcmene, as much as we might like to imagine she is."

"She's not yet even twenty. She's too young to be out on her own."

Jason nodded, acquiescing. He didn't like the idea of Kirra out there on her own any more than Alcmene did. "Yes, but sometimes life itself can make one wise beyond their years, and I think Kirra has experienced a lot more than the two of us know." He gave Alcmene a squeeze when it looked like she might give in to another bout of tears. "We cannot control her, Alcmene. All we can do is trust in her and hope that she makes the right decisions. We've done all we can to lead her on a straight path. Haven't we?"

Though it pained her, Alcmene sighed and nodded.

"So, what do you say? Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. Okay?"

Alcmene tried to smile. "All right…but, what about Hercules? What will he do when he reads this?"

Jason kept a straight face, but inwardly, he groaned at the prospect of letting his friend read of Kirra's decision. "That'll be up to Hercules."

* * *

Being lost sometimes had its advantages. The kind-hearted tended to reach out to you and offer assistance where needed. In this case, what Kirra needed was a ride all the way to Endor. Even with the dinars jingling in her pocket, a ride of that distance may not be forthcoming. A ride of any distance seemed to be a bit too much to ask in Corinth. Yes, there were wagons traversing the cobbled city streets into Corinth, wagons of many different shapes and sizes and responsibilities, designed to carry anything from bales of hay to highly esteemed dignitaries. Weather-beaten, older wagons creaked by, their wheels matching the clop of the horse's shoes on cobbled roadways. Then, there were those resplendent in color and decoration, carried by the finest steeds, their carriages enclosed and entered upon through a diminutive door. Only the most hypocritically virtuous climbed aboard these carriages. Her simple blue dress and road-weary appearance wouldn't get her a hairsbreadth within a mode of transportation so plutocratic.

Instead of bemoaning her situation, Kirra kept her head up and prepared herself to become completely lost within the maze that was Corinth. Something would come along, she told herself. Someone would offer a ride or there would be a trade vessel making a trip northward along the western face of Greece that would put her closer to her destination.

Where in Tartarus had she gotten this inflated sense of prosperity? A trip back to Endor would be arduous on foot, not to mention dangerous on her own. The journey from Attilas to Corinth had been equally as rough, but she'd had Hercules and Iolaus at her side. She had felt safe, and hadn't worried about what she would eat. They caught all the food. (Iolaus's one good quality was that he knew how to handle a bow and arrow.) This go 'round, she would be alone and responsible for feeding herself. She hadn't thought about gathering a satchel full of bread from Alcmene's kitchen when she snuck out her bedroom window. She only thought of getting away. Nor had she thought of the reaction her note might evoke from the people with which she had spent the last year of her life—particularly Alcmene.

Kirra refused to dwell on such depressing thoughts. Getting back home, back to her mother—that was the priority.

She had to keep moving forward, under the shadow of trees, away from her other life and toward the one she left behind, toward the city of Corinth. Ahead stood an arched gate of stone, towering over her with watchtowers at its left and right. Beyond it was a wide street known as the Lechaion Way ***** , the main thoroughfare into the city. Kirra had come this way with Alcmene many times. From her vantage point, under the shadow of the arched gate, she could not see the north markets she and Alcmene often visited. Nor did she want to. The sight of it would bring nothing but guilt. She wouldn't dare visit either, for the vendors there might ask her of Alcmene. Steeling herself, Kirra put one foot in front of the other and followed behind the feet of many others as they entered into the grand city.

She was busy marveling at the architecture—terra cotta roofs and white marbled columns that marked either side of the Lechaion Way, intricately decorated doorways to bathhouses and temples—when an opulent carriage led by two black as night steeds blustered past. She and several others had to quickly move aside to avoid being trampled. Men cursed and raised their fists. Women worked too hard at swooning. Kirra, however, clutched one of those marble columns, her gaze on the passing carriage. Bedecked in a splendid array of blues, reds and purples, and gilded in what looked like gold, the carriage was not what drew Kirra's gaze. Instead, her gaze gravitated to a pair of eyes.

Sitting upon the rear of the carriage—a place designated for servants or slaves—was a girl not much younger than herself. Only she was like no one Kirra had ever seen before. With skin the color of cinnamon and dark hair tied into a copious amount of braids (each one like a thick strand of hair), she bore white markings on her face. The carriage moved by so swiftly, Kirra hadn't the time to decipher if the markings were paint or tattoos, but as the carriage hastily moved on, she knew without question the look in the girl's eyes. Lost. Trapped.

Eyes of the clearest amber locked on Kirra's before the carriage had a chance to spirit away. They were eyes of anguish but within them gleamed just a spark of purpose. She felt the girl's stare like the piercing of a blade. What could a slave have to feel purposeful about, other than to see to the care of their master? It wasn't a life Kirra wished for, and yet, a life without purpose was the life she sought to escape. When with her mother, her purpose had been to keep her mother safe from Hiram. Now, living with Alcmene and Jason, her purpose seemed to be chores, shopping, and not much else. She had grown tired of new dresses and working in the garden and harvesting and helping to sell the fruits of another's labor. She wanted her life to mean something.

Now that the carriage had moved along and Kirra could leave the relative safety of the column (and stop thinking about the slave girl with the piercing amber eyes), her hand moved to the letter in the pocket of her dress. Benjamin's letter. He too wanted something from her. She didn't believe she was ready to give it. She had told Alcmene that his writing was _getting better_ when in actuality his writing and reading comprehension had improved by leaps and bounds since his tenure at The Academy. It was the intimacy of his writing that gave her pause. In them, he professed his love and a desire to spend the rest of his life with her. This had been a dream of hers as a girl, but the idea of being tied down by a husband and children no longer had appeal. It wasn't a purpose with which she wished to saddle herself.

Kirra ventured deeper into the city, past marbled burbling fountains and upward upon steep stone stairs, beyond the temple of Apollo, which dominated this part of the city (and brought back mixed memories of Attilas, both the pleasant and the not so pleasant). The Lechaion Way stretched for some distance before she came into the central agora, passing beneath another arched monument. Figures in brass stood atop it, depictions of warriors on their horses.

From her studies, Kirra had learned that every major city in Greece had an agora. It was the largest of marketplaces within any city, a gathering place for traders, artists, spirituality and politics. Several mini-temples (small in comparison to the larger ones, like Apollo's behind her and the others on the hilltop of the Acrocorinth) stood out to her far right against a curtain of vendors selling their wares. These were in honor of gods like Hermes and Poseidon, but there was also a standing Pantheon, a temple in which one could worship any of the gods of their choice.

Across the agora's great expanse, was a raised platform Alcmene had called the bema. Kirra had no idea what it meant, but according to Alcmene, at any given moment, one could ascend the bema to give a speech, whether spiritually or politically motivated. This was partly the reason she avoided the agora. "Pompous men giving their pompous speeches," she once said. The other reason was currently being portrayed in the agora's farthest corner near the mini-temple of Dionysus—slave trade.

Without much surprise, Kirra noted the colorful carriage that had nearly run her down on the road. Lost, and a bit curious, she meandered that way, past statues of deities and kings (none of which looked like Jason). It was that carriage, all right, nestled amongst a number of others. Kirra caught sight of a man and woman, dressed in royal finery, exiting the carriage. The woman, resplendent in a red dress laced with feathers, had her hair twined in gold adornments. The man, whose black beard appeared woven into a straight rod beneath his chin, was equally adorned. Kirra watched them approach another raised platform along with a number of other finely dressed individuals. No one who ascended those steps would do so to make a speech.

Her mind wandered to the slave girl she had seen shackled to the back of the carriage. A quick look told Kirra the girl was nowhere to be seen. As she neared the auction, the shackles hung empty and inanimate at the back of the carriage. Was the girl to be sold in the slave auction? Kirra felt for her. She knew what it was like to have a life without meaning. If there was something she could do…

But no. She wasn't Hercules. She hadn't the strength, not the mention the dinars, to rescue one slave. If she did, she would rescue them all. Kirra lowered her head and turned away from the sight of a burly man with a whip leading a small boy to the platform in shackles.

She had to get home. She had a mother to take care of. That had to be her purpose. What else did she have? Corinth was a port city. Surely, there would be someone near the docks willing to accept rides out of the city upon payment. Maybe someone would be willing to get her halfway to Endor, or to the next closest polis.

Her first inclination was to exit the agora and to go in search of the docks, but something else pulled her forward, not toward the trading of slaves, but beyond it, toward the temples. Her feet slipped past the circle of auction-goers and her eyes fixed upon the Pantheon. Four columns upheld an entablature carved with the depiction of the twelve main deities in all of Greece: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Ares, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Hermes and Hestia. She barely noticed the people exiting the temple in droves, but only that she felt compelled to enter. What was pulling her toward it? What did she hope to find there? Slipping between the two middle columns, Kirra's questions were not answered, but she entered through the open doors nevertheless.

Inside, the space lit only by torched sconces and the filtered light of day, immense interior columns held up chambers above. Statues of the various deities stood upon pedestals on either side of the room, torch light flickering on their carved, serene faces. On the far end of the temple stood two figures that towered above the others. These statues, incredibly tall and massive in comparison, were arm in arm as husband and wife.

"Zeus and Hera," she gasped.

All of her life, as she read and learned of the life of Hercules, she had imagined these two as real beings. Hercules spoke of them as if they were. One he called Father, the other he called Witch. Having witnessed his impossible strength numerous times, she hadn't doubted his heritage, but standing here, she realized she hadn't truly believed. Zeus and Hera were as unrealistic to her as characters in a story.

Disillusioned, Kirra shook her head and turned to leave. "What am I doing here?"

"Because I called you here."

The voice came from out of nowhere. If her heart hadn't flipped inside her chest, she wouldn't have thought it possible, but flip it did. She turned to find the source of the voice by searching the corners of the darkened temple, but saw no one. She was alone with the statues. No one appeared from the chambers above, and the doors to the temple behind her had closed.

She prayed her heart might settle before she ventured a question, but she was not so lucky. Kirra spoke with a quavering voice. "Who—who's there?"

A flicker of light drew Kirra's eyes to one of the statues on Zeus's side of the temple. At first, she thought one of the torches must have caught a floating strand of hair or dust, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw it came from the statue of a woman.

Over the last several months she had decided the events that took place within the palace of King Nikolos, particularly the events that had happened within the King's blacksmith shop, could not possibly have happened. She had imagined them. Fear of finding her stepfather within the shop had caused her to hallucinate…or something. She had to have imagined the woman dressed ethereally in white. No one can just appear or disappear from a mere flickering of gold dust (and despite what her hallucination had said, she had no other destiny than to get home to her mother).

Seeing the flickering of gold dust appearing around the statue at the far end of the temple could only mean that she was hallucinating again. Was it fear of not getting home to her mother mixed with guilt of leaving Alcmene's home without a goodbye? Or could it be the terrible sight of the slave trade that brought this on? She wasn't seeing what she was seeing. She couldn't be.

Kirra backed up until her heels butted against the pedestal and collapsed at the feet of Hera. She covered her eyes and muttered, "I shouldn't be here…I shouldn't be here."

"You're right about that one, Sweet pea. You _shouldn't_ be here."

Kirra didn't know one deity's statue from the other. For all she knew, the statue depicted Artemis or Athena, but the voice was familiar, too familiar for one who had decided she never existed in the first place. Kirra opened her fingers and peered between those shaky appendages to see the face she remembered much better than a face from a hallucination. It was _her_. The woman in white. Only this time, she was dressed less maidenly than Kirra recalled.

Hands on slender, exposed hips, the woman in white could now more rightly be called the woman in pink…the womanly parts of her covered in pink fabric, anyway. The rest of her pink skin was open to the free air.

"Well, what _are_ you doing here…in Corinth, of all places?" the woman asked, her eyebrows raised. "You should be on the road to Thebes with Jason and Alcmene!"

"Who are you?" It was all Kirra could think to ask.

The woman in pink raised her hands in the air and huffed. "Seriously? We're back at that again? You should have this figured out by now. You're a smart girl."

Hands fully away from her face, Kirra now rested them in her lap and shook her head. "Just because you appear out of nowhere and tell me you've seen my lifeline, doesn't mean I know who you are. Besides, you don't look the same as I remember."

The woman in pink rolled her eyes. "Here," she said and snapped her fingers. Her figure went from barely concealed in pink to fully clothed in white, all in a matter of seconds. The ethereal figure of the woman in white glowed as iridescently as she had that day in the King's palace. Sadly, however, her warm smile, the one that could thaw the iciest of hearts, wasn't making an appearance today.

"It is you," Kirra said.

And just like that, the woman in white disappeared as if in a puff of air. The woman in pink, with her impertinent glare, remained. "This is the real me. Aphrodite, goddess of love. Get used to it." Taking one of Kirra's hands, the woman in pink pulled her to her feet and away from the feet of Hera. "Maybe if you get away from her you'll think better."

" _You're Aphrodite?"_

A head of perfect blonde curls nodded impatiently. "Yep, and you're in the wrong place."

Kirra pulled her hand away. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Hercules. He's in trouble and I need you to warn him."

Another stab of guilt went through Kirra. His name was one she hadn't hoped to talk of for some time…at least, not until she made it home and told mother of her life since she left.

Kirra gave the goddess of love (Impossible! She cannot be _the_ Aphrodite!) a beleaguered smile. "Hercules is quite capable of taking care of himself. He doesn't need me. If you really are a goddess, you would know this."

" _UGH!"_

The love goddess threw up her arms yet again, the filmy robe she wore billowing about. This was definitely not the same woman she had met in the King's palace. That woman had been pleasant and calm to be around. This woman was like a brewing storm. Who knew what would happen when she began to blow? Kirra smartly took two steps backward toward the exit.

"You sound just like Heph!"

"Heff?"

"Hephaestus, my husband."

"You're married to the god of…blacksmiths?" she asked, the last word voiced with contempt.

Aphrodite huffed. "If this keeps up, not for long."

"Oh, that's right," Kirra said. "Iolaus told us the story of his grandmother, Leandra, and how Hephaestus was deceived by his servant, Iagos."

"Yeah well, Hephaestus is easily deceived and by more than silly servants."

Her golden curls sagged as Aphrodite shook her head, and that's when Kirra understood. The woman in pink wasn't a vengeful god about to strike; she was a frustrated wife, thoroughly dejected by the choices of her husband. Kirra knew the look. She had seen it on her mother's face more times than she could count. She took two steps forward.

"What happened?"

"Hera happened."

The name froze Kirra in her tracks and her eyes went upward to the statue towering over the both of them.

Aphrodite did the same, but with much less fear. "Yeah, her. Our relationship was just peachy until she got involved. I should have known better. Heph has always been a sucker for his mother's attention. The old hag uses it to her advantage every time, too."

Kirra's eyes grew wide as wagon wheels. No one but Hercules had ever shown such disrespect for the gods. Surely, sparks would begin to fly from Hera's statue in retaliation at any moment, but Aphrodite dismissed the stolid statue with a wave of her hand.

"Don't worry about her. Hera's not paying any attention to the two of us, trust me. She's far too busy with her new toy."

"What do you mean?"

Aphrodite huffed, blowing her curly bangs from her face. "It all started about a millennia ago…well, at least to an Olympian. Hera came to Heph's cave with a gift over the loss of Iagos. I told Heph he was better off without the little toad, but then Hera brought in a bullfrog. A hulking thing who rarely speaks. The only good thing about him is he does most of the work and…" Her one and only smile of the morning returned with a radiance even Kirra could appreciate. "…frees up Heph's time for little ol' me." The smile disappeared as fast as blowing out a torch. "But the bullfrog…what did she call him? Arheem or something? Anyway, he was just a way for Hera to stick her claws into Heph. It was all a part of her plan to get _my_ Heph to make _her_ a warrior, one strong enough to kill Hercules."

Kirra blanched. "Kill Hercules? Why?"

"Because she's Hateful Hera. She's not happy unless she's making somebody's life miserable…like _mine!_ "

"But what about Hercules?"

"Exactly! You were my ticket to getting the word to him, and _look_ where I find you."

Kirra could hardly breathe. Why did warning Hercules hinge upon a lonesome girl from Endor? "What about you? You apparently can flit about like a butterfly. Why can't you warn him?"

Aphrodite frowned and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. The move didn't serve to hide them. "Look, my brother and I don't always see eye to eye, but…he is my big bro. When was the last time a brother ever listened to his sister?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have a brother. Or a sister, for that matter."

"What does that have to do with anything? We're talking about Hercules here!"

"I know," Kirra said, her voice low.

The two great loves of her life—Mother and Hercules—had been pulling at her heart for many months now. Should she go or should she stay? Should she just get over her heartbreak and languish in more luxury than she had ever known in her lifetime, or go home to someone who actually needed her? Last night, she had chosen her mother. She feared for Hercules. If anyone could issue a viable threat to his life, one to really worry about, it would be the goddess who had carried through with the murder of his wife and children. He was vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before, but…

Kirra nodded, firm in her decision. "We _are_ talking about Hercules. He once told me, if I'm looking for a hero, I should look to myself." Remorseful, yet determined, Kirra took two steps back. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going in that direction. Hercules will have to discover Hera's plot on his own. I have to get home to my mother."

Aphrodite's jaw came unhinged. "You can't do this, Kirra. You have to warn Hercules. This…this…" She muttered the word over and over as if grasping at straws. "This is your destiny."

"My destiny?" Exasperated, Kirra shook her head at the goddess. "You never really explained that, so I don't know how much I believe in your idea of a destiny. I'm pretty sure life is just what you make of it."

"Look, I'm no oracle, but I know what I saw. And maybe you're right. Life is what you make of it, but if you make the wrong choices, what I saw will become skewed. You have to follow your life course, Kirra. You cannot deviate from it. If you do, the person you're meant to be will vanish."

"And who is that? Who am I? What is my purpose in this life?! Is it just to be there for Hercules when he needs me? Or when I need him? How can I have a destiny when I don't even know what to do with my life?"

Aphrodite sighed, her urgency for Hercules's safety set aside. The face of the woman in white returned. "All I know is that you become a person of great importance with great influence and you'll affect the lives of many people. Hercules will be a major influence on your life, but he won't be the greatest. That's why I'm worried. That's why I need you to warn him. Hercules won't be in your life forever."

Two months ago, this revelation might have given Kirra a knock hard enough to weaken her knees. Today, it was only enough to give her pause and make her think. What could Aphrodite possibly mean? That Hercules might one day disappear from her life frightened her, but in the end, she had to make a decision.

With a regretful sigh, Kirra moved for the door. "The person of greatest importance to me is my mother. I have to get to her. I have to take care of her. Hercules will understand."

"Kirra, don't do this. If you make the wrong choices, you'll end up down a path you can't walk away from."

Hand on the knob, Kirra looked back at Aphrodite. "I'm sorry." She turned the knob and went out into the bright light of a Corinthian day. She missed the chance to see Aphrodite disappear into a sparkle of gold dust one last time, but she couldn't bare the goddess of love's dejection anymore. She had to leave her presence and focus on her sole reason for coming to Corinth—finding a way home to Mother.

Behind her, as the door closed on the temple and the torch-lit darkness inside returned, Aphrodite did disappear in a puff of gold dust. Neither of them had noticed a pair of amber-colored eyes looking on from above, both in astonishment and with a twinge of admiration as well.

* * *

 *** Most of the descriptions of the city of Corinth are based upon maps during Roman occupation, which takes place at a much later date than the fake time period of the Hercules/Xena universe. These maps are the only ones I could find online of the city of Corinth. I am uncertain if the Lechaion Way, or any other features mentioned later, was part of Corinth's earlier designs, but it is in this story.**

 **^In mythology, Hephaestus is Aphrodite's husband. I don't believe it was ever said definitively on HTLJ that the two were married, but they were still together when Hephaestus went up against Xena, so I'm sticking with this idea.**

 **More of _Kirra's Journey_ will be available later this week. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey_**

* * *

" _A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."_

 _~Jean de La Fontaine_

* * *

 _Chapter 4_

The new enforcer had begun to take better shape in the time since Hera and Hephaestus had forged it in fire. It's body, made of a silver flame hot enough to forge iron, which had developed muscle, tissue, skin, and a flaming-orange head of hair in mere seconds, was now wrapped in silver matching the coldness of Hera's heart. She had commissioned that it be sparsely clothed in a warrior's armor of leather woven with silver to make it stronger. This one didn't need to be fitted with helmet or plate armor or shin guards. She was fire. To a mortal, fire was more deadly than the sword.

From the seat of her throne, Hera commanded her guards, "Bring her forward."

They had presented her only moments before. Hera had sat within her throne room in anxious anticipation for their arrival. Hidden for mere moments within a red cloak, her armored guards loosened the binds that held the cloak in place and revealed the new enforcer's perfection. Poseidon's invention had been flawed. That much was now clear. Hephaestus's creation would prove invincible.

It approached Hera's throne unhindered by flanking guards for she now commanded them, chest thrust forward, shoulders back. Hera smiled at its display of strength. It moved as though made of iron itself. It's flaming-orange hair radiated a heat all its own, but that which burned within it, that which Hera infused within it, was her own burning indignation toward Zeus and towards his half-mortal son.

Speaking of… He spoke from the throne beside her. "Just what is this all about, Hera?"

Hera watched its eyes slide fluidly like molten lava from herself to the one seated beside her. Zeus. Hera gave her husband a gracious, yet beguiling, smile. "A little side hobby of mine. I created her to do my bidding."

"And what bidding is that… _my dear?_ " Little actual affection came from those words. They were spoken with contempt. Affection between him and Hera had ended long ago. "I would hope this has nothing to do with Hercules."

Hera waved away his worry with a gloved hand. "Oh, you worry too much, my husband. Just because I involve myself in a new hobby doesn't mean it has anything to do with your _bastard_ child."

Zeus harrumphed. He knew Hera much better than to believe that, no matter her insults. He looked at the thing standing before them and leaned forward on his throne. "What is the meaning of your existence, creature?"

"To do the bidding of my Queen," it said, gazing reverently at Hera.

"I see. And what of your King?"

It gave him a smile every bit as gracious and beguiling as his wife's. "I have no King."

"Ah."

It started with a grin, that turned into a snigger which trickled into a chuckle, until Zeus was completely overcome with laughter. The hilarity of it was lost on Hera. Her slender fingers curled into tight fists.

"You give yourself away, my dear," he said once he could control himself. " _Everything you do_ has something to do with Hercules. Your son's gift will be no more effective than Poseidon's." Hera frowned at him. "Yes, I know all about your little 'side hobby' with Hephaestus. Aphrodite told me everything."

Hera's eyes nearly lit with fire themselves. "Tell that daughter of a whore to mind her own business."

This time it was Zeus's turn to frown. The Titan goddess Dione, one of his many infidelities, was Aphrodite's mother. Dione had been dead for ages, killed by Hera herself in one of her fits of rage, but Zeus had never forgotten her beautiful face…or his love for her.

"Not to worry, my dear," he said, reining in his own rage. "Hercules will make short work of your creation."

"I beg to differ."

Had it not been for the deep timbre of the voice, Zeus might well have thought his own wife has spoken. No. _IT_ spoke to him uninvited, and now it was laughing at him with all of Hera's hatred unmasked.

" _I_ will make short work of Hercules. I will make him know the fury of Hera, and once my Queen's vengeance has been sated, there will be nothing left of your precious son but a scorch mark on the ground."

Zeus pounded a fist on the arm of his throne. "How dare you speak to me in such a way?!"

Hera laughed. "You have no hold over her. You gave up that right the day you left your son to his mortals. You chose the path of non-interference, and now you must pay its consequences." Effectively dismissing him, Hera rose to her feet and descended her throne to stand before her creation. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready, my Queen. How would you like me to proceed?"

Zeus rose from his seat and demanded, "What you will do is stand down!" As if he had never spoken, as if he never even existed, the two ignored him.

"Take a band of my best warriors. I want you to crush Hercules."

It smiled. "I will, my Queen."

"Hera, listen to me!"

Zeus's voice came as though from a great distance. Hera ignored it. "But before you do, make him know my suffering. Take away those he cares for. Two you will find on the road to Thebes, one within the city itself, a brave warrior who will think he has what it takes to save his friend."

"I will show him what he is truly made of. Is there another?"

Hera's blood red lips spread into a salacious smile. "Yes, there's another. Do not underestimate this one. She is…sly."

"Where do I look?"

Disregarding the protests of her husband, Hera answered. "You'll find her in Corinth."

* * *

Kirra darted from the temple, ignoring the slave auction which had begun in earnest with shouting bids, around the trio of mini-temples and up a set of stairs leading to the western most side of the city. Before long, the agora and any other temples were far behind her. At a street corner, she took a moment to catch her breath and get her bearings.

How dare she demand anything of her? And how dare she call herself the goddess of Love? Love asks for nothing in return for the gift it gives…except for maybe a broken heart when one's hopes are not realized.

Kirra lowered her head and stifled her tears. Why hadn't she asked? The goddess of Love had been standing before her. She could have asked her one simple question, _Why doesn't he love me, as I love him?_ All she had thought of was getting away from the demands of one who called herself the goddess of love. She hadn't really believed, but it was true. Aphrodite was real. It was _all_ real. Kirra couldn't deny that now. She had missed her chance to understand why her heart ached for one who didn't feel the same as she did. She had run, not because of her mother, and not because Hercules could hold his own against a warrior of Hera's creation, but for the simple reason that she wasn't ready to see his face again. The pain was still too near.

Heartbreak or not, it didn't mean she was bound by the Olympians' rules… _or_ claims of destiny. She no more wanted Aphrodite governing her will than she did Benjamin and his plans for their future. This was _her_ life. She was the one who had to live it and face the outcome of her choices.

Pulling fresh air into her lungs, Kirra pushed away the feeling of being yanked in a million different directions and took stock of her surroundings. She found herself standing amongst government buildings and homes of the elite. Nestled in among them, however, were small shops and bakeries made of stucco with thatched roofs. For a few seconds, Kirra felt right at home. The smell of fresh baked bread was a temptation, for she hadn't had anything to eat since the night before, but she didn't know how far her dinars would stretch. She felt for them in her pocket, her fingers playing over the handful of coins, and decided to risk it. What good would a ride out of town do her if she died of starvation?

With a smile, she asked the mustachioed baker for two small round loaves. Half a loaf for now with a thought to saving the rest for the road. She placed her dinar on the baker's counter and thanked him just as a band of armed men raced past her. They were not Corinthian guards.

"What's going on?" she asked the baker. The guards, dressed in colorful garb and brandishing intricately carved spears in their hands, had stopped to question a man and then turned down a side street.

The baker peered over his counter. "Ah, from what I understand, a foreign dignitary's slave girl has escaped."

Kirra smiled. Now she understood the determination she had seen in the eyes of the slave girl on the back of the carriage. "Well, good for her."

"No," the baker said, shaking his head and waddling the folds of skin under his chin. "Bad for her when she gets caught. These foreigners aren't very forgiving of their slaves…not like us Greeks."

A clang of metal against metal could be heard within the baker's shop and Kirra spotted a young man in the interior, apologetically picking up an armload of steel cooking pots.

"What's the matter with you, boy?! Get back to work!"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir," he pleaded from within.

Kirra locked eyes with the young man, but he quickly averted his own and did as his master commanded.

"See what I'm saying?" the baker said. "Foreigners would've beaten him within an inch of his life for that kind of foolishness."

Regarding the baker with a cool pair of eyes, she said, "If you ask me, anyone who has to buy a slave to do a job he can clearly do for himself _is_ a fool."

She took her two loaves and hurried down the road, away from the baker who was currently calling her out for her remark. She ignored him. If she weren't so hungry, she would have thrown his bread at him and demanded her money back.

A sign ahead indicated the direction of the docks. Kirra followed it.

* * *

Her dinars were jingling in her pocket by the time she neared the docks. As with the rest of Corinth, the terra cotta roofs of boathouses and the shipmaster's house stood out. The difference here was the piers jutting out into the open sea. Waiting patiently along them, bobbing in the waters, were vessels much larger than the ferry that had taken her to Euboea. Kirra had never seen a sight more majestic. New sounds greeted her, and new smells assaulted her nose. Salt air. The lap of water on shore. Men working at the docks, calling out orders to their shipmates. The pungent odor of fish. But chief among them was the overwhelming sensation of freedom. It called to her. Here, there were no boundaries. No one to tell her how ladylike she ought to be. No one to tell her she was too young or too female to go where she pleased. Here, one could seemingly go wherever they wanted.

Today, however, the dock in Corinth wasn't a pleasant place to be. Guards were out in force, weapons at the ready. Had something else happened she didn't know about? Oh, what did it matter to her? Kirra had somewhere to be.

There!

Past a few guards, who were totally oblivious to a peasant girl who looked as if she had traveled all night (she had!), was a wagon. To the rear of it, an older gentleman filling the back of it with sacks of feed and a couple baskets of fish. He might just be her ticket out of town.

Kirra took one step but didn't make it any further.

She had no time to protest or scream, because her brain hadn't comprehended what was happening until it was over. One minute, she was standing out in the open, the next she found herself under the arched eves of a covered walkway, one tanned hand with a firm grip on her arm. Kirra's eyes went from the hand to a cloaked face and a set of pleading, amber eyes.

"Please," came the whispered cry. "You've got to help me."

The lost, yet determined, face she had seen on the back of a wagon only hours ago, now held much desperation. Kirra didn't know what the escaped slave girl might do to win her freedom. Her eyes were wild like a rabbit's caught in a trap.

Kirra yanked her arm free and stumbled backward. "Let go of me. Who do you think you are?"

To remind the girl of her place (not that Kirra's own was any higher than that of a slave) in such a dire situation was cruel, but a sudden fright always pulled the wrong words from Kirra's mouth, and when it did, it usually came out far louder than she intended. Curious glances and raised eyebrows of gossipy interest drew in their direction from passersby. The slave girl's eyes went wide, and in the shadow of her cloak, they looked like two glowing orbs of light. She plastered her body against the column in an effort to shield herself from nearby armed guards. Kirra had to make this right. The girl might have jump-started her heart, but the last thing she wanted was for the guards to find her. She had every right to freedom as Kirra did.

Turning to the curious passersby, some of whom had even stopped in their tracks to look at her, Kirra started to laugh. She feigned embarrassment. "Silly me," she said aloud with a shake of her head and a hand attempting to mask reddened cheeks. "I thought it was a person, but I ran into a statue of Apollo."

The curious glances quickly turned into frowns of castigation. "Pay attention to where you are going, girl," one old, but elegantly dressed woman said. "Hurry to the temple and ask forgiveness for your insolence," said another. She placated them with apologies and promised to make amends before the sun had reached the noon sky. They shook their heads and moved along. At least she hadn't drawn the attention of any guards, and she had no intention of apologizing to anyone except—

The same tanned hand gripped her arm once again. This time, the slave led Kirra farther along the walkway and inside an open door to a boating supply shop. An aisle of hanging nets concealed the both of them from the curious eyes of the shop's owner.

"Are you trying to get me _killed?"_

Kirra once again pulled her arm out of the girl's hand. "Right now? I'm giving it serious thought."

The slave girl's ire waned like the dousing of a flame, and she lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, but those guards were right on me. I couldn't risk showing myself."

Kirra sighed irritably, if only to hide her curiosity. She couldn't place the slave's accent, but it was not Greek. Her thick, braided hair and her cinnamon-colored skin even less so. Where were her people from?

"Next time," Kirra said, straightening the sleeve of her dirty dress, "if you want someone's help, don't terrify them into a rash action. Aren't you the one on the back of the carriage that tried to run me over?" She couldn't bring herself to call the girl a slave.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry for my master's actions. They were…in a hurry."

The girl's eyes widened at something over Kirra's shoulder and she took a quick look. It was the owner.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh no," Kirra said with as natural a smile as she could muster. "We're just looking. Thank you."

The man nodded and moved on. Kirra turned back to see the relief in the slave's expression. "What makes you think _I_ can help you? I'm no one of any importance." With a downtrodden look, she added, "I can hardly help myself."

A bewildered frown transformed the white markings above the slave's brows. "But I saw you in the temple."

Kirra raised her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You can commune with the gods! Surely, you're capable of great deeds."

Kirra tried not to laugh. She saw too much fear and confusion in the girl to intentionally squash her hopes, but she couldn't help herself. Laughter escaped. "I think you have me confused with someone else."

"No, I watched you when you approached the temple. I had already broken free of my chains when you arrived. I watched the people clear at your arrival, and when you entered, I followed, amazed at what I'd seen. I had to be sure. The look we shared on the road could not have been a coincidence. And sure enough, when you were alone within the temple, I watched as you summoned the goddess to you."

" _I summoned?"_ Kirra stifled another round of laughter. She didn't want to draw the continued attention of the shop owner. "You've gotten it all wrong. I summoned no one. _I_ was the one drawn to the temple. The goddess, if you can call her that, sought me out. _She_ asked for _my_ help."

Her comments, meant to dissuade, had the opposite effect. The slave's eyes widened and her lips parted. "A goddess asked for your help?" She took hold of Kirra's hand as if it were something to be reverenced. "You must be someone of high importance indeed."

"No, no, you misunderstand," Kirra began, feeling awkward in the reverent eyes of this girl who appeared no different in age from herself. They were both simple people, lost at their purpose in life. She had to make her understand, but the sound of marching feet and shouted orders put an end to the conversation.

The slave girl gasped at the sound and yanked Kirra quickly behind a large barrel of wooden oars. They heard booted feet enter the establishment, and a hurried conversation between guard and shop owner ensued.

"We're looking for an escaped slave. Have you noticed anyone unusual in the past hour?"

"No, sir," the man said. Kirra could almost imagine him giving the guard a nervous shake of his head. "There were two young women in here earlier, but they were poor peasant girls. Probably looking to purchase nets to feed their families."

Kirra glanced down at the slave girl. 'Poor peasant girl' was not exactly how she would have described her. Slave girl, yes, but her garb spoke of a well cared for slave. Though she wore the cloak of a poor man's fabric, the fabric she wore underneath was far from a peasant's garb. She wore a tunic of leather with striking detail on the bodice in colorful beads. Her skirts were shorter than Kirra's, but made of a heartier material, with leggings that descended into calf-high boots. Most striking were the decorative gold bands on her arms and the trinkets of gold and other precious metals braided into her dark hair. She wasn't just a well cared for slave; she was a prized slave, one a master would not readily give up. Either the shop owner was blind, or he was trying to help them.

Kirra held her breath, waiting for the guard's reply.

"Are they still here?"

"No," the man said. "They left some time ago."

"All right," the guard said and there was no suspicion in his voice. "If you see anyone suspicious, speak to one of the guards."

"I will. Thank you."

Kirra and the slave girl released a collective sigh when the guards marched away. There was no chance for a second breath, though. The shop owner began to descend the aisle upon which they had hidden. He approached the barrel of oars and strangely began to order them into a more aesthetically pleasing arrangement. He had to see them hiding in the corner, their eyes wide and their breaths caught in their throat.

Without looking at them, he softly spoke, "I have a workroom on the other side of the shop. There's a door to a back alley you can take." When they hesitated, he cleared his throat and let his eyes rest upon them only for a second. "Hurry now before they come back."

Kirra took the slave girl's tanned hand within hers, thanked the man, and ran with all haste toward the back of the shop. He wasn't lying. There, beyond a sales counter, was an open doorway. They took it. She knew they couldn't just barge out into the open. They needed a plan. Letting her eyes skim over the owner's workroom (where he obviously braided and mended fishing nets, as well as shaped wood into oars and fishing poles), Kirra looked for something that could alter their appearance. An awl, a mask, some sort of fisherman's wears that might conceal the slave's identity, but there was nothing.

"How well do you know the city?" the slave girl asked. "There has to be some place we can hide until the sun goes down."

"No," Kirra said, her eyes lighting upon instruments for cutting and shaping wood hanging from the walls. She dismissed them. She had no use for weapons of any kind. "I don't come to Corinth that often. I've only lived outside the city, in the country, for the better part of a year."

 _Other than the time I spent in Attilas or Euboea, that is,_ she thought. Euboea…that's it! A memory of being stuck in a similar situation within the palace of King Nikolos came to her, she and Benjamin hiding in a closet. Kirra turned to the slave girl and looked at her clothing.

"Keep the cloak," she said, momentarily dropping her satchel and reaching behind her head to unfasten the first of many buttons. "Take my dress." She pulled the slave girl into a corner so the shop owner wouldn't mistakenly see her undressing.

"And what are you going to wear?" the girl asked with a bewildered arch of her eyebrow.

After loosening the first few buttons, Kirra slipped the sleeves from her arms and prepared to remove the dress completely. "Your clothes. Give them to me."

A smile of understanding dawned on the slave's face. "Right."

It took a matter of minutes for the two of them to undress and don the other's clothing, all the while glancing over their shoulders to make sure the shop owner wouldn't enter the room. Kirra felt odd, and strangely exposed, in the girl's clothing. She hadn't worn anything in her life that revealed as much of her skin as this outfit did. For the first time, she had what she had only ever heard other women call cleavage, and she grimaced at the sight of it.

The slave girl grinned. "You'll get used to it." She donned the cloak once again over Kirra's dress, hiding the color of her skin and the markings that would surely give her away in the light of day. "Now what?"

"Now, we separate."

"Separate?"

"Yes, you take the back exit and I'll go out the front long enough to distract the guards."

"But, what if they capture you?"

Kirra shook her head. "They won't."

"Are you sure?"

"I have a plan," she said, wadding her own shaggy blonde curls into a knot at the back of her head in an effort to conceal the fact that she had no plan whatsoever. "I want you to get out of the city. Head to the northwestern gate and follow the road about a mile."

Kirra remembered this exit. Alcmene had called it a shortcut home. It was off the main road and would have been the entrance she came upon had she stuck to her path in the early morning, but as the sun had climbed higher in the sky, she felt it safe enough to travel out in the open.

"And then?"

"After a ways, you'll come upon a well. It's a short distance off the road, but you'll be able to see it. Wait for me there."

"All right," the girl said, but she seemed unsure.

Kirra grasped the tanned hand whose wrist was now wrapped in her own garment. The color difference was striking to her eyes. "Don't worry…what's your name?"

"My masters call me Tauthé."

" _Tautay?"_ Kirra asked, testing the name with her lips. "Well, Tauthé, my name is Kirra. In a couple of hours from now, when we meet at the well, I want you to tell me your real name. Okay?"

The smile that bloomed on Tauthé's face lit a torch within Kirra. The feeling was one she could not readily name. It temporarily blanketed her plans to run home to her mother in shadow. She had not forgotten or abandoned the quest. She only knew helping the girl was the right thing to do. Mother would approve.

"Okay," Tauthé said.

Kirra gave her hand a squeeze. "See you in a couple of hours."

"Right!"

"And be careful."

"You, too." Tauthé looked at her clothes, the clothes of a slave, upon a free woman's body. "Don't get caught."

"Trust me." Kirra opened the door to the back alley. "Now go."

Tauthé disappeared through the opening, walking casually, not looking back. Kirra didn't give her the chance. She closed and bolted the door before the girl could even give it a thought. Looking down at her new attire, Kirra ran her hands down the length of the velvety leather tunic. The beading had been cut from various stones, many she could not recognize. An outfit like this might be worth a lot of money to the right person. The amount could get her home.

Kirra abandoned the thought. It wasn't one Hercules would ever have considered. She promised to help the girl and she would do so. When Tauthé was safe and no longer in threat of recapture, Kirra would return the girl's clothes, leave her with all the well wishes she could bestow upon her, and head home to Mother.

For now, though, she had to put thoughts of Mother on hold and think of a way to distract the Corinthian guards long enough to allow Tauthé the chance to escape. How to do that without getting caught by the foreign guards of the enslavers was another matter entirely. Her thoughts went immediately to her recent adventures, as they often did when she found herself in a tight spot, but for a task such as this, it would be a mistake to think like Hercules. To do so was to believe she still had a chance with him. He didn't love her. Not the way she loved him. He never would.

No, she had to learn to think differently, to become a different person in order to accomplish this specific task…a person that would draw the sort of attention Hercules could not garner. After all, she was her only hero.

* * *

 **In Chapter 5, Kirra receives help from an unlikely source.**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey  
_**

* * *

 _Chapter 5_

With a deep breath, Kirra steadied her beating heart and settled her befuddled mind. She wasn't Kirra of Endor, frightened little girl who ran away from home to avoid the consequences of her actions. She wasn't even the Kirra who lived with Alcmene and the famed former King of Corinth, Jason. In her mind, she formulated a new Kirra.

This Kirra was worldly-wise, adept, cunning. She wasn't afraid of armed guards or in fear of being captured as a slave. Were capture an issue, she would surely find a way of escape that would leave them dumbfounded. This Kirra was coy, a smooth-talker who could schmooze her way out of any situation. She walked with her head held high, her back straight and her hips loose.

Of course, this version of Kirra was complete fantasy, a person made real to complete one mission. If she couldn't absolutely believe in this other version of herself, she couldn't make her real.

With this new personality firmly in place, and worn as heavily as a coat in winter, Kirra swayed confidently for the front exit. The shop owner's open-mouthed gaze followed her out. She paid him no mind. If she had, the visage of this woman would have crumbled as swiftly as burnt parchment.

Turning left at the exit, Kirra gave no second thought to the docks. Her mission was no longer about finding a ride home to Mother. Now, it was to distract the guards who were looking for Tauthé and leave the city center of Corinth as quickly as possible. She didn't stay hidden under the shelter of the arched walkway, but instead moved out into the sunlight where she could be visible. She moved with silky purpose, placing one foot saliently in front of the other, and ignoring the discomfit of the eyes that strayed toward her. It would defeat the purpose to intentionally look for guards to distract. She kept her sight trained forward with only one thought—to leave Corinth the same way she had entered it, through the Lechaion Way.

Three gates guarded the entrance to the docks, and beyond them were a descending set of stone steps. When she entered the docks some time ago, the gates were open and people had flowed through it freely. Approaching from the opposite side, Kirra saw the gates had been closed and an armed soldier stood guard beside each one. Travelers from distant, and not so distant lands had descended upon the closed gates to gain entrance into the city. The guards were asking questions, checking papers and manifests before allowing anyone in.

Kirra nearly faltered. One foot jerked hesitantly in front of the other. It was the only sign of the true Kirra she gave away, but she kept walking, inwardly hoping Tauthé had met no similar barriers, and yet wondering what in Tartarus was going on. This couldn't be in reaction to a foreign dignitary's missing slave…could it? The city of Corinth seemed to be on lock down. Was there an imminent attack she knew nothing about?

Keeping her fears locked tightly inside, Kirra didn't eye each guard to see which one might be the more lenient. She went to the first one her feet led her to. As opposed to the last two guards she had been able to swindle in the past (one of which had turned out to be a long lost friend), this one was not young and gullible. He was older and his eyes were hard, but his eyes were not immune to the female shape. She allowed them to rove over her, despite the perusal making her skin crawl.

"Name?" he asked once his eyes found hers.

"Meriba of..." Kirra had crooked an eyebrow and propped ambitious hands upon her hips. She hoped she didn't look as much a pretender as she felt. "…Zakynthos." She knew her map, had studied it often. It was a small island off the eastern border of Greece.

"Zakynthos?" he asked in disbelief. "A long way to travel for a woman alone…"

 _Ugh,_ Kirra thought. _Here we go again._

"Who says I'm alone?" she said with a knowing grin.

The soldier matched her grin with one of his own. "Destination, Meriba?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'll see where the wind blows me."

His grin hardened. "On any other occasion that load of codswallop might get you through, but not today."

"Is that so?"

"Strange things going on in Corinth. Escaped slaves, stolen property, unwelcome visitors causing trouble. Can't be too careful, but I might be persuaded if…"

"Yes?"

The soldier's grin returned. Kirra didn't like the lurid gleam behind his eyes. "Soldier's barracks, eastern side of town. Can't miss it. After dark, you and I…"

The mere suggestion had her stomach turning and her bile rising (and a desperate desire to hold back a sneer of disgust), but the soldier's hand was on the gate and it had opened a crack. Kirra remained in character. Playing the innocence card might have worked on the guard within the dungeons of Attilas, but it wouldn't have worked on this guy. Her aim had been to garner just this sort of attention. If a lascivious grin got her through the gates without incident, she would let him think he'd won his prize, and a touch was sometimes a promise in the minds of vile creatures like this one.

"You have a deal," she said, forcing herself within touching distance of him so that she could slip by. She was nearly past him, assured of her freedom in light of his grimy smile, when he gripped her upper arm, calloused hand scraping over tender skin.

"Hey, wait a minute," he said, his voice suddenly gruff. Taking a scroll tied to his belt, his eyes jumped from whatever was written on it, to her tight-fitting clothes, and then to her. "Where'd you get that outfit?"

Kirra watched the guard pull the gate shut with a mixture of pride and apprehension. To be seen wearing the escaped slave's clothing was exactly her plan. The guard was clearly trying to piece together the description of the escaped slave with the woman who stood before him. This was the very question she had hoped to hear. Yet, the timing was unfortunate. Locked behind the gates of the docks, she couldn't divert the guards' attention in the opposite direction of Tauthé's escape, and still make her own. She would have to improvise.

 _"What will that matter in the dark?"_

That's what she would have said (the simple act of conjuring the words in her head flushed her cheeks), but she never had a chance to say them. Another voice, one Kirra did not recognize, cut in before she could.

"Hey, hey, hands off the merchandise!"

Another hand, not calloused, but smooth and fine like artist's hands, took hold of her arm and pulled it from the guard's grip. Kirra didn't recognize the face either. In fact, she had no idea who this man was, dressed in ornate robes and a blue turban.

"Haven't you ever heard 'you break, you buy'?" the man added, giving the guard a proper dressing down with no more than a glare.

"Who are you?" the guard asked.

Kirra was wondering the same thing. Despite her confusion, she had a feeling the strange man was trying to help, though, whether he was doing it for her or for himself, she couldn't quite tell. One thing was certain, if she didn't get out of this soon, her whole plan to help Tauthé might go up in smoke.

" _Who_ am I?" The man threw his head back, nearly losing his turban in the process, and gave the guard a haughty laugh. "Who _am I_?" He straightened his turban, his laughter slyly changing into an indignant frown. "I'll tell you who I am, my good man. I am Prince Sheik Asheraf Boubi of Zakynthos."

"Prince Sheik Boubi?" The guard smirked. "Never heard of you."

"Heard of me or not, you'll hear from King Iphicles if you don't let us through. I have an important meeting with him this afternoon concerning trade rights."

The man in the turban moved to pass by the guard, Kirra still in tow, when the guard placed an open palm on his chest.

"How dare you lay your hands on me?"

The man poured on the disdain a bit overmuch in Kirra's estimation. She was surprised the guard hadn't detected it. Or maybe he had?

The grimy guard crossed his arms over his not too inconsiderably sized chest. "You're not going anywhere until you can explain why this girl is wearing clothes matching that of an escaped slave."

The man in the turban placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of his boxy chin and stroked his mustache. "Hmm, let me think about that a moment." As if a light bulb went off in his head, he pointed one finger heavenward and continued. "Oh, I know! Maybe because she _is_ a slave, _my slave_ , to be exact. She's a gift to King Iphicles himself," he said, yanking on Kirra's arm and pulling her closer. "So, I don't know why she'd wonder off only to panhandle herself to the likes of an oaf."

Who was this man, and what game was he playing?

The guard harrumphed, but Kirra, however miffed she might be at this man's interruption, played along and changed character like one changed clothing. She pocketed the coy, worldly-wise woman, saving her for later, and put on the image of the wary slave girl. "I'm sorry, my master."

"Master is right…at least until I give you away. You pull a stunt like that again and I'll sell you at slave auction to the highest bidder." He turned his dark brown eyes back to the guard, who continued to frown at being called an oaf. "So, are you gonna let us in or do I have to send word to King Iphicles of your harassment of me and my slave girl. I'm sure he'd be particularly interested to hear of the _deal_ you made."

The guard reined in his annoyance with the Prince Sheik Asheraf Boubi of Zakynthos and opened the gate. "Go on. Just don't come back through this way on my watch."

The prince wagged a crooked finger at the guard as he passed. "Oh, you'll pay for that one, buster. Mark my words!"

"Whatever."

Whether _the prince_ heard the guard's final dismissal, she couldn't tell, for he spent the remainder of their time within sight of the dock gates chastising her for getting out of his sight. Kirra played along, but only so long as it took them to round a corner. When she could no longer see the guard or the gates, she yanked her arm free as fast as she could and whirled on her would-be savior with a look that might have halted a smarter man.

"Get your hands off me!"

He frowned. "Well, that's gratitude for you. I help you get past the iron gates _and_ the iron guard, and you can't even offer a 'thank you.' Didn't your mother teach you to respect your elders?"

"Respect my eld—? Nevermind. What do you want with me?"

"I don't want anything from you," he said, placing insolent hands upon his hips. "I came to assist you."

"Assist me or use me to get in yourself? And who in Tartarus are you?!"

He looked at her as if the answer were right before her eyes. "Prince Sheik Asher—"

Kirra shook her head. "Oh, don't even think you're playing that game with me. There are no sheiks in Zakynthos." She averted her eyes. "That I know of."

"Ah-ha!" came his swarthy response, but the icy glare Kirra shot his way brought his bravado down like a stone. "Look, we both wanted in. We're both in. Done. Let's let bygones be bygones and go our own ways. Whattya say?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

With that, the strange man in the blue turban turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the eastern side of the city, his brilliant robes fanning out behind him in the morning breeze. Kirra gave an exasperated sigh and headed north. Now was not the time to be fretting over a stranger. Yes, his little scheme may have set her back a bit, but she couldn't let the distraction overwhelm her senses. She had a mission to complete—to get home to her mother and to help Tauthé find her own kind of freedom.

* * *

"Where did you get that outfit?"

She had lost count the number of times a guard stopped her to ask the same question as the guard at the dock gates.

To each and every one, she gave the same response: "I bought it from a dark-skinned girl at the docks. She said she needed the dinars." She gave each one the bright and excited smile of a kid with a new toy, as well as a twirl. "It looks magnificent on me, don't you think?"

Depending on whom she spoke to, she got either an affirmative nod or a disapproving frown, and then she walked on, leaving a trail of guards racing for the docks and the way clear for Tauthé to make good her escape. None of them attempted to detain her.

All of that changed the closer she drew to the agora.

The air had begun to change. A breeze blew unlike any Kirra had ever experienced this early in the fall; hot like a parched wind on a summer day. After the chill air of the early morning, it was unexpected and a tad alarming. It brought forth memories of Euboea, of dark clouds and the threat of fire that she had fought to bury since her time there. Benjamin wasn't likely to appear from a column of smoke and flame this time around, of which she was glad. She wouldn't need saving today.

That's what she told herself anyway as the current guard stood before her, spear in hand and holding it with the pointed end leveled at her heart. When he asked, "Where'd you get that outfit?" this time around, he didn't nod, nor did he let her go. Apprehension smoldered in him, as though he feared she might attack. A fact to which Kirra couldn't help but frown. She was unarmed and, despite the act she put on, nothing but a girl. What could she possibly do to him?

A nod to her memory of Katrina, Kirra slapped the spear end away from her. "Watch where you're pointing that thing! Are you afraid I might sprout claws or fangs?"

Indeed, he did. The guard took two steps back, returning his spear to its original position. Kirra's frown deepened, but strangely enough, he wasn't the only one acting as if the end of Corinth was nigh. Even as the guard asked his question, Kirra noticed the people that had begun to steadily pass them in the street, going in the direction she had come from, the docks and the eastern most side of the city. They weren't running, but they weren't on a leisurely stroll either, and some of them were glancing over their shoulders.

"What's going on?" Kirra asked the guard.

He lowered his spear when he saw alarm reflected in her expression. "I don't know," he said with a shaky voice and looked behind him toward the sky where dark, billowy clouds were gathering toward the center of the city.

"Why don't you go have a look?" Kirra offered. Storm or no storm, she still had a mission to complete. This was the perfect distraction. "If something _is_ happening, perhaps you could assist."

"Uhhh," the guard mumbled, and the end of his spear began to shake.

"I'm sure it's nothing all _that_ bad. It's probably just a fire. I wouldn't worry."

He seemed to relax a smidge until the sound of marching boots reached both their ears. The guard looked over her shoulder, the small comfort she had given him melting from his face like wax. He hastily moved her to the side of the street just as a formation of soldiers rounded the corner. This wasn't a procession, nor were they parading a dignitary about the city. Swords and shields combat ready, these soldiers appeared to be marching into battle.

"Okay, perhaps it is as bad as you thought," Kirra said to the guard beside her.

The formation stopped before them, halted by the hand of the lone soldier who stood at the front of the formation. He turned to them and said three words, "Soldier, in line."

The guard blanched, but tapped his helmet in salute. "Yes, sir!" The formation continued down the street toward the darkening sky and he gave her one last glance before he moved to follow. "If you want me to forget I saw a girl wearing the clothes of the escaped slave, you'd better find a way out of the city."

Watching as the soldiers disappeared toward the center of town, Kirra ducked down a side street and followed an alternate route back toward the agora (though, avoiding the baker's shop altogether). She tried making herself as visible as she could to the guards along the way, but the closer she drew to her destination, the less any of them noticed her. They were either huddle in groups and pointing to the sky or running it its general direction. Something was definitely happening, and though reason told her she should probably follow the streets to the western exit, she kept to the north, toward the dark skies. She couldn't draw attention in Tauthé's direction. They had to stay separate.

As she closed the distance to the agora, Kirra's apprehension grew. Not only was this the last place she had seen Tauthé's enslavers, where she might face her biggest hurdle (Tauthé's "don't get caught" reverberated in her head like a clashing cymbal, pumping her heart and rushing a flow of blood to her cheeks), but she was continually passing people who were headed in the opposite direction, away from whatever commotion was occurring within the center of town.

 _Keep to the agora's covered walkways,_ she reminded herself, but she needed to get into the agora first.

She wasn't far away now. She had only to scale the distance of the nearest temple, walled on all four sides by one large rectangular stoa. She hadn't taken the time to discover just to what god the temple had been erected, and she didn't truly care to know. She only knew that once she reached its western corner, she would have a clear view of the rear of the mini-temples she'd passed earlier in the day. The problem, however, wasn't the distance; it was the crowds of people that had gathered outside the temple's side portico. How would she wade through them all in order to get across?

Just as she was about to step off the curb and onto the street, a group of soldiers, spears raised to do battle, sprinted past her. Kirra jumped back onto the curb, hugging a lantern pole to keep from being skewered. They jogged down the road ahead of her, parting the masses with a mere command. Curiosity had drawn the people forward, but the sight of armed soldiers now sent them running, and from within, Kirra felt sure she heard screams.

This had nothing to do with Tauthé's escape. She was sure of that now. Time to use this little distraction to her advantage and slip out of the city without drawing the attention of any foreigners in decorative, colorful clothing.

She slipped through the fringes of the crowd, around the side portico and toward the western corner of the temple's stoa. Instead of thinning crowds as she drew closer to the agora, the crowds were thickening. People had gathered at the temple's main portico as well, filling its steps and spilling out onto the street, trying to peer onto temple grounds just to get a glimpse of what was happening. Whatever it was, here is where the dark clouds above had converged. They twisted in the sky above with an otherworldly swirl. She waited to see lightning strike from its center and plummet to the people below, but a clang of metal against metal, of sword against sword, and the booming sound of an explosion spared her such a sight. The people ran without need of a lightning strike…and they ran right toward her.

Kirra froze. She was a rabbit caught in the path of thunderous hooves, and those hooves were meant to trample. She took two, three steps in the opposite direction, before the crowds overtook her, nearly throwing her to the ground in their haste. Someone caught her up in arms that attempted to keep her from falling to the hard cobbled stone before dragging her underneath the portico and against the wall. Kirra caught a flash of golden filigree and turquoise stitching before her eyes focused on a face and a blue turban that had become far too familiar in the last hour.

"You!" she cried and pushed him away from her, but not before she felt the misshapen lumps underneath his robes. "What are you doing here?"

"Making my second mistake of the day," he said with a look of consternation that didn't sit well on his arrogant face. "Today is not the day to be paying one's dues to the mighty Hera. Trust me on that."

"Don't you mean taking your due," Kirra said and reached to rip open the ends of the robe he held so tightly together.

He backed expertly out of her reach. "Now, now, little girl. Keep your hands to yourself."

He glanced around as if others might be listening in, but no one was paying either of them any attention. Their gaze was drawn to the opening of the temple where yet another scream issued. In any other situation, Kirra might have answered his insult. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She had left her behind in Endor and there is where she would stay until the woman she had become returned and frightened her away. For now, she was still stuck in Corinth, her plan to run home to her mother gone awry by an escaped slave, a thief in sheik's clothing and whatever was going on within the temple. She had an idea it had something to do with the so-called Sheik Boubi.

Kirra gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "What's going on in there?"

He straightened his turban and said, "I don't know and I don't think you want to know either. Let's get out of here."

He took her by the arm again, but this time Kirra twisted out of his grip and moved past him. "Are you crazy?" she heard him ask behind her, but ignored him. Warning bells were going off in the back of her mind, the kind of warning bells she used to sense when she knew her stepfather was about to go on the warpath. They told her she would find nothing but trouble on temple grounds. She never ignored the warning bells before, not with her stepfather, but she ignored them now just as she ignored the so-called sheik and entered the temple grounds only to meet with a sight that stopped her cold.

Hera; the temple was in honor of Hera. Kirra knew it the moment she saw the statue standing front and center of the grounds. The god some called the goddess of marriage and family, but who Kirra knew only as vengeful murderer, one who destroyed marriages and incinerated families. The action at the feet of the statue was what drew her gaze.

By the same token symbol of Hera's fire and destruction, stood a woman with hair as orange as the heat of flame itself. The very soldiers that had rushed past Kirra on the road were now toppling in heaps at her feet. Kirra's eyes met those of the guard who had stopped her on the road, who warned her to get out of the city. He lay dead at the foot of the statue of Hera, his eyes staring lifelessly at her as though in accusation. Flanking the orange-haired woman, and taking out the remaining soldiers, were six of Hera's temple guards. They had to be. They were the only ones armored in blood red from head to toe.

The screaming had stopped. Dead silence reigned. Except for the voice of the man at her side.

"Sweet baby Zeus," the 'sheik' said. "What in Tartarus is that?"

Until he spoke, Kirra had remained convinced that whatever was happening within the temple had something to do with what this man had stolen. Now she wasn't so sure. It had to be this beast of a woman, bristling with more muscles than Kirra had ever seen on a female body. She stood like a potentate to the prostrate and terrified people around her. Coming to the temple had been a mistake, but Kirra felt powerless to move once it began to speak.

"People of Corinth," the flaming woman said, her voice resonant like sounds from a deep chasm. "Hera has a message for you unfaithful. She is tired of sharing her worship with deceivers and those of lowly mortal birth. Soon, there will be a new order. All villages, provinces, cities, and all people will serve Hera… _or die."_

An audible gasp erupted from the crowd, but Kirra kept as silent as the grave. _"Those of lowly mortal birth."_ She was talking of Hercules. Aphrodite hadn't been telling her a tall tale after all. This was Hera's warrior, made by Hephaestus himself. Had Aphrodite told her nothing, this being's mere presence would have been all the proof Kirra needed. The creature (for it was in no way, shape or form, human), was molten rock plucked from the center of the earth and it came to burn anything that stood in its way, including Hercules.

"But first," it announced to the wary crowd. "I'm looking for someone, and you're going to help me find her."

 _Her?_ Kirra rushed through a list of names. Alcmene? Queen Rena? Aphrodite? No, couldn't be her. Tauthé? Kirra gasped. It couldn't be Tauthé, could it?

Kirra wasn't waiting to find out. She tore from the sheik's grasp and took the small flight of stairs two at a time. A far easier task without a throng of skirts ruffling at her ankles. She reveled in the freedom the lack of a heavy garment provided, but it was not her main concern. Tauthé might be in terrible danger. If Kirra didn't find her, and soon, the thing from Hera's temple might find her first and there was no telling what might happen.

Bounding from between the portico's center set of columns, Kirra pushed through the crowd toward the agora, oblivious of the two red eyes that had locked onto her movement.

She avoided the main thoroughfare, cutting between a stone figure on a horse and a circular podium of eight columns. On any other day, she might have marveled over its elaborate carvings and its conical roof, or wondered upon the inscription with the name of Babbius on it, but not today. Today, she shot between the columns on swift feet, drawing gasps from the people nearby. She didn't care whether the common people of Corinth saw her. She didn't care if she might be desecrating a temple. Her intent was to avoid the eyes of the slavers on the opposite end of the agora and get to Tauthé fast. Though, how she would protect her once she got there, she had no idea.

She was barely past the columned structure when Kirra found herself face down on the stone floor of the agora. She felt the burn of scraped flesh on the palms of her hands, but it was secondary to the sounds of screaming and the pelting of stones on her back. People were running. Crumbled pieces of masonry had been scattered all about her. One piece, particularly large and only inches from her, told her it was a part of the conical roof she'd past beneath only seconds before. Kirra turned over, wincing at a sharp pain in her arm, to see that the structure was now nothing but rubble. The columns left were sharp-edged daggers pointing into a sky still the dark grey of a cloudy day, but the structure itself had been decimated. There was no question as to the cause.

Standing atop what was left of it was the orange-haired creature. Silver-flamed armor straining against bristling muscles; it gave her a malicious smile that raised the hair on the back of Kirra's neck. Mere seconds passed before it spoke, but in that time, Kirra tried to wrap her mind around what was happening, why it looked at her so or why it stood over her in apparent triumph. Tauthé's safety had been forefront in her mind. She couldn't see the truth, not until it stepped on her like a bug.

It cocked its head to the side like an eagle about to eat its prey. "There you are. Right where she said I'd find you."

Tauthé wasn't the one it wanted. It probably didn't care one ounce about the slave girl. Its eyes were trained solely on Kirra, and she felt like a deer caught in the sights of a huntsman's bow. No matter what direction she ran, there would be no escaping, nor would there be any chance to ask why. It took the steps, the same ones Kirra had jumped from only moments before, one by one. Kirra whimpered, closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

A loud boom filled her ears.

For a moment, she thought she had been blown to bits and pieces, but she felt no pain other than the burning scrapes on her palms. One eye opened cautiously to see the rubble left of the columned structure, but the creature itself was gone.

"Run!"

The voice had come from her left where a small militia had assembled, men with spears and shields, and one other man, who was likely their commander, stood at the helm of a cannon. Kirra put two and two together. The cannon hadn't blown her to bits, but she had a feeling, despite the massiveness of the commander's weapon, it hadn't obliterated the creature either.

"Girl! Get out of here!"

Kirra didn't waste time obeying the commanding officer. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling in the debris around her, just as her vision caught sight of _it_ rising from the rubble of a demolished temple. The very one in which she listened to the entreaties of Aphrodite. (Where was the so-called goddess now when _she_ needed help?) Just as she had surmised, the creature bore no marks of injury.

If one had told Kirra early this morning, as she lay in bed pondering her future, that she might encounter something forged by the god Hephaestus and given life by the goddess Hera in order to destroy Hercules and all that he cared for, she might have laughed in their face. She had despaired under the twinkling of twilight stars that her life was meaningless, that she had nothing important to live for but her mother. Standing here now amidst the rubble of destruction, Kirra could come up with a whole list of reasons she should run as swift as a centaur to stay alive. One of those reasons being the bolt of flame that emanated from the creature toward the advancing militia.

She didn't wait to see if they raised their shields in time or wonder if they would scream in pain and terror. She beat a hasty retreat from the agora with the crowds, blending in with hundreds of stampeding people, bumping into the wealthy and commoners alike, one of which bore a striking resemblance to one of Tauthé's enslavers. The man, with his straight as a rod beard, gave Kirra no first or second look. His eyes, wide with terror, would not have noticed a flying chariot, let alone a girl with curly blonde hair wearing his escaped slave's clothing.

Forced into a tight throng of people attempting to escape the city of Corinth through its northern gate, Kirra moved with the people, weaving in and out where she found gaps to squeeze through. She passed with many others beneath the arched monument that led onto the Lechaion Way. The road was wide enough to accommodate horse and carriage, but with this many people, it had become as cramped as a wooded trail. Explosions sounded from behind. People screamed and surged toward the gate. Caught in their throngs, Kirra was pushed forward, rushing toward a destination that would only end in her crushed against a stone wall. Already, people at the gate were sandwiching against one another in a mad rush to get out. This wasn't supposed to be her last day on earth. She had promised Tauthé she would see her in a couple of hours. What would the girl do when Kirra didn't arrive? What would her mother do when she found out her daughter would never come home?

Kirra screamed. Not because the end was near. A hand, biting in its grip, had taken hold of her upper arm and yanked her from the rushing crowd as one might pluck a fish from the water. Pulled away from the maddening rush of the crowds, Kirra found herself under the sheltered awning of a shop front.

 _No,_ she thought. _Not plucked like a fish from water. Plucked like a jewel from a locked case!_

She stood face to face with the thief, the supposed Sheik Boubi. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Thief or not, he had just saved her life. She hugged him as though he were her long lost brother.

"Thank you," she cried. "Thank you so much."

Surprisingly, he pulled her from him and held her at arms length. The conman's smile no longer graced his handsome face. "Thank me later. Why don't you start by telling me who you are and why a monster of Hera is chasing you through the streets of Corinth?"

* * *

 **If you do a Google search for "the agora of Corinth," you'll find images (ancient ruins, conceptualized drawings and aerial maps) of the location where most of the action in this chapter takes place. I did a tiny bit of restructuring to suit the story, particularly with Hera's temple. The round columned monument that Kirra runs through, and is then destroyed by the enforcer, was an actual structure called the Babbius Monument. You can find images of it as well.**

 **In Chapter 6, Kirra must make good her escape of Corinth, and Hera's demon. Will the so-called Sheik Boubi lend her a hand a second time?**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey  
_**

* * *

 _Chapter 6_

The last time Kirra visited the northern markets of Corinth, she and Alcmene had bought enough skeins of woolen fabric to sew together several dresses for the daughters of their closest neighbors. The poor man hardly had what he needed to care for his children after his wife died, and Alcmene had welcomed them into her life as one of her newest charitable causes. Her generosity was one of the many things she loved about Hercules's mother.

Their last trip here, however, was but a flash in the corner of her mind. The sight within the market was not the same as she remembered. There was not the normal hustle and bustle of business she was used to seeing, but nor was there panic like there had been in the streets. Still, the vendors knew something was going on. Shoppers had moved on and the vendors were hastily closing up shop, gathering their wares onto wheeled carts or into hand-held baskets. For today, at least, the shops were closing down.

Not that it mattered to Kirra. There was to be no shopping today, for the _sheik_ had her by the arm and was leading her away from the maddening crowds. Kirra hadn't had the opportunity to answer his question. Frightened people had begun spilling into shops and side streets to avoid being crushed to death, just as they had, forcing the sheik to lead her past the northern markets.

He kept to the shadows out of sight. "You haven't answered my question yet," he said as they passed behind a rug vendor rolling up the last of his merchandise.

Kirra winced at the pain in her injured arm, where his fingers dug. "Only because you haven't given me a chance. Let go! You're hurting me."

He did, but not until they were reasonably out of sight. They came to a stop under the eve of the market's exit. Looming in the distance ahead of them stood Corinth's humongous open-air theatre, the one place in all of Corinth she most wanted to visit. She had more pressing concerns now, one of which was the pain her right arm. A large purpling welt had developed beneath a patch of heavily scraped skin. When the structure had exploded behind her, a piece must have rocketed toward her and hit her arm. Thank the gods it hadn't been her head.

"Do you think you could be more careful where you grab people?" she said, bestowing upon the sheik her most baleful glare.

He frowned. "Sorry. I didn't know you were hurt. Now answer my question."

"When, pray tell, did I suddenly become answerable to _you!"_

"When you and your shenanigans almost got me killed."

" _My_ shenanigans?"

"That's right, sister. If I hadn't stopped to help you, I'd be half way to Delphi right now."

"You mean, you and your stolen treasure…"

"That's beside the point. What I want to know is, why does Hera want you dead?"

The question stopped Kirra and her arguments in their tracks. Catching her breath, she found she had to avert her eyes. "Your question is valid, but I don't know how to answer it."

"And why's that?"

"Because I don't know why." She did, on some level, but she had no desire to tell of her conversation with a goddess to a complete stranger. "I came to Corinth for one reason…to find transportation home. Then, I ended up helping this girl who had run away from her enslavers—"

"That escaped slave everyone's been going on about since the sun rose?"

"Yes, her. We exchanged clothing and I planned for her to meet me outside the city so that I could get her safely out of town…"

"Well, that was mighty generous of you."

She turned disdainful eyes toward him. "Better than safely extracting stolen relics from the city."

"Hey, a man's gotta make a living."

Kirra shook her head at him. He had helped her. He wasn't all bad. "Anyway, that's what I was doing at the docks…when all _this_ happened." She rubbed at her sore arm.

"So," the sheik began, hands on his hips. "You're a poor farm girl turned hero for a day and out of the blue a creature of Hera's creation pursues you for no reason at all." The skepticism dripped from his tongue like honey from the combs.

Kirra sighed and rested her back against a load-bearing column. "Oh, there's a reason, but I'm sure it has nothing to do with me. I'm beginning to realize that being acquainted with the son of Zeus is not good for one's health."

The sheik laughed. It was a ridiculous laugh, haughty and as cynical as his next comment. "Are you trying to tell me you know Hercules?"

"He happens to be a very good friend."

"Sure he is."

Kicking the so-called sheik in the shin crossed her mind, but she didn't get around to turning that thought into action. Another explosion sounded near them. Kirra jumped, and though she couldn't be sure, she might have screamed as well, for she found herself huddled beside the sheik for protection. People began pouring into the northern markets by the hundreds.

"Time to go," he said and took her hand this time, leading her away from the clouds darkening the city and out into the bright light of day. Ahead stood the theatre and in the distance behind them a black smoke rose. Whatever this creature was, it wasn't afraid to tear a city apart to find her. She gave thought to the idea of presenting herself to it if that would halt its destruction and save lives, but her newfound friend wasn't giving her the option. He was pulling her forward, away from Hera's monster, in the direction of the theater.

They cut across an open field along the path planted with a row of Tuscan cypress. The trees were tall and skinny, reaching toward the sky like spears. Close together, they made for excellent cover on their way toward the theater. They reached the pillared entrance in time to pause and see frightened people spilling from the northern markets, but there was still no sign of _it_.

"Where are we going?" Kirra asked, her breath coming heavy between words.

"We're getting outta Dodge. There's another way out of the city not too many people know about."

"A way only a thief would know?"

"You got it, sister."

"The name is Kirra," she said before he turned their idleness back into action. Past the theater entrance and beyond the building itself, they ran in a direction Kirra did not know. It certainly wasn't toward a structure she had any knowledge of, but as long as he got her as far away from Hera's _It_ as he could, she didn't care where they ended up.

"Maybe, Kirra, when this is all said and done," the sheik called out, "the big guy will owe _me_ one for a change!"

"Wait, who are you?"

"Just call me the King of Thieves!"

* * *

Nestled deep within a grove of ancient and twisted olive trees stood a stone well. The mortar, which held the rough-hewn stones together, had cracked in places. Chunks of it had gone missing over time, likely fallen to the ground, covered by fallen leaves and the twist of growing grass. Sediment had done its work, as well, for there was no longer any sign of the pieces that once helped hold the well together. It had seen many years in this place, perhaps too many.

Tauthé could almost feel within its weathering stone the stories it might have to tell if it could speak, but it had passed its prime.

This was a place time had forgotten. Possibly the groves of a wealthy, but stingy old land owner who had died alone and had no one left to tend his property. Whatever the reason, the olive trees and their stationary caretaker, the well, had been left to their own devices for many years. The place felt haunted by its past, whatever that may be, and the well had long gone past any sensible use. No water besides rainwater filled its interior. She had discovered this by dropping in a few acorns given up by unwelcome trees that had invaded the grove. Instead of hearing the plunk of it into water, the acorn hit a stony bottom, clunking instead of plunking, until it came to rest and went silent somewhere in the dark.

Not even the well's sheltered roof had survived time. It held no bucket and no rope from which to retrieve water, had there been any. Tauthé surely wished there was. She could use a drink of water after her hasty journey here. Her tongue had begun to feel as dry as sackcloth.

 _How long have I been here?_

Looking up, the sun was now directly overhead. Midday. With a sigh, she had been waiting for more than an hour, and still no sign of the girl named Kirra who promised to meet her here. How long should she wait? How long before it was obvious no one was coming? Alone, in a strange country, where she knew no one and knew even less about its culture and its people. How long before she became someone's slave again?

"No," Tauthé said aloud. "Those days are over. I don't care what I have to do, I will never be a slave again."

Her hands went involuntarily to her hips. She groaned when she felt nothing there, though she knew she wouldn't. Her plan had been foolproof. She knew her masters as she knew the back of her hand. She still didn't understand how it had gone wrong. Nergal always kept his daggers, locked in an ornate box, within arm's reach. He loved those two ivory-handled daggers more than he loved his own sons. What a great dig it would have been to her former master to discover not only was his prized slave gone, but so were his prized weapons.

Her plan was to take the daggers when Nergal and his wife had exited the carriage. She would have plenty of time to disengage her own locks, sneak into the carriage while their interest was on the auction and steal the box. She would break its bonds and take the daggers for herself, either for personal protection or to sell. It all depended on which came first, the need for protection or the need for money.

Now, Tauthé had nothing. She didn't even have her outfit, the cut stones and the gold armbands of which were valuable in their own right. How could she have been so stupid as to believe a Greek would help her?!

Tauthé stared back in the direction she had come. Through the leaves of the trees, she saw the lazy smoke in the distance and the dark clouds. Booms had sounded in the distance some time ago, several coming from the city itself, but she didn't know what was happening and she wasn't about to venture back to find out. The thought occurred to her, however, that maybe she was wrong. Maybe the girl had meant to help her, but didn't make it out of Corinth in time. Biting back the panic that fought to surface, Tauthé went back to pacing and wondering how long she should wait before she decided she was all alone.

A peculiar sound reached her ears, one which she couldn't source by hearing alone. It sent her to a crouch behind the well where she drew the tattered cloak about her like a shield. She had swiped it from a careless old man who had draped it on the back of his chair at the auction. The idiot. She felt like the idiot now. Standing out in the open, where anyone traveling along the road with a keen eye might see her. She couldn't risk being caught this early into the game.

The sound came again and this time she had the wherewithal to catch it. Something like a huff, as though someone was struggling to maintain their footing. She still had not pinpointed the direction when it came again. It wasn't just a huff, but a grunt, and it had one particular idiosyncrasy she hadn't noticed before—an echo, one you might hear coming from the bottom of a well.

Tauthé's eyes went wide. Something internal told her to move, but she didn't do it in time. A clank of metal pinged above her head and the next thing she knew, the pointy edges of the cloak's hood had become pinned to the well. She had felt the blow of it like a spear to her forehead, though it hadn't touched her at all.

Wrong!

Tauthé tried to wiggle free of the cloak, but one of her braids had become pinned as well. She twisted her body, trying to pull the braid free but only succeeded in pulling hairs out by the follicle. That was okay. What were a few hairs? Her life was more important. Pulling herself free, leaving the cloak were it was pinned, Tauthé's eyes fell upon what had ensnared her—a grappling hook. She was now fully exposed to the light of day. Even with the other girl's dress, she stood out like a sore thumb to the people of Greece, and it wasn't a good feeling. Nor was the sight of someone climbing out of the well. She could hear the continued sounds of struggling coming from deep within.

Heart pounding, Tauthé searched the ground for a weapon, but all she saw were the brittle branches of young oak trees. The olive trees around her, old as they were, kept what little they still had. She was defenseless. Should she run? Should she pulled the grappling hook from its moorings and let whoever was ascending tumble back to the bottom? She was about to bolt when—

"Tauthé. Are you there?"

Desperate pale fingers appeared over the lip of the well. Smudged in mud and other debris, they searched for purchase. She may have only met her once in her life, but Tauthé knew the sound of that voice.

Tauthé ran to the edge of the well, crying, "Kirra!"

She didn't question the voice, or what Kirra was doing deep inside the well, nor her disheveled and battered appearance. Those questions she could save for later. For now, she needed to get her to safety. She reached her arms down as far as she could, gripping Kirra by her upper arms (being careful not to grasp the hideous bruise), and pulled her up and out of the well's chasm. They landed on the ground beside each other, Kirra breathing heavily, looking as disheveled as a tumbleweed caught in a windstorm. Besides the ugly and painful looking bruise on her arm, sweat drenched her from head to toe; her hair, which she had twisted into a bun on the back of her head the last time Tauthé saw her, had fallen loose and tendrils were stuck to her face. A thick, black mud streaked and dotted her blonde strands, as well as her face and hands. Tauthé's leather boots and leggings took the brunt of this muddy assault, however.

"Thank Shamash you're safe!" Forgetting the fears that had plagued her only moments before (that Kirra had abandoned her, that she couldn't trust a Greek), Tauthé hurried to ascertain Kirra's injuries. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

Breathless, Kirra asked, "Shamash?"

"Sun goddess, protector of travelers and the poor. Surely, it was she who protected you and brought you to me."

Kirra couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't a hearty laugh. Bruised and battered as she was, struggling to catch her breath, the laugh barely came with sound. If she could speak, she would have responded in the positive. 'Sure,' she would have said, 'if Shamash wore a blue turban and expensive robes underlined with heavy spoils from Hera's temple, which would make climbing up the side of a well rather difficult…then yeah, Shamash had protected her, all right.' The proof was in the echo of continued struggled coming from deep within the well.

One enrobed arm rose above the lip of the well, pulling into view a sight which quickly brought Tauthé back to her feet. Kirra was surprised to see her taking the stance of a fighter. Wrapped in her blue dress, it was rather comical, but she hadn't the strength to laugh again. Not even when the sheik's blue turban surfaced, followed by his indignant and grime covered face.

"Shamash my ahhhh…"

He lost his grip on the edge of the well and nearly slipped back down into its depths. Had she the ability, Kirra might have jumped to his aid, but he caught himself just in time, his dark eyes wide. Tauthé hadn't moved from her stance. Kirra thought if the girl had weapons, she would have brandished them.

"No, no, don't move," the sheik sarcastically continued (Kirra refused to believe he was the "king" of anything, let alone a Prince of Zakynthos), pulling himself up and out until he had one leg over the edge. "I don't need any help, really. Don't put yourselves out."

Her cloak still wedged into the side of the well with the grappling hook, Tauthé stood unprotected from curious eyes. She looked almost regal, like royalty in Kirra's blue dress, but the wild look in her eyes told a different story. She wasn't royalty, but she wasn't common by any means. She was a fighter. Holding her body within a rigid warrior's stance, one Kirra had seen Iolaus use on several occasions, Tauthé had taken a position of protection in front of her.

"Stay back, heathen!" Tauthé demanded of her supposed attacker.

He merely frowned as he too tried to catch his breath. _"Heathen?"_ he asked, now with both legs dangling off the outside edge of the well. "I'll have you know, slave girl, that I just happen to be the Ki—"

The words were barely out of his mouth when Tauthé launched herself at him. In seconds, she had planted her feet atop the well, one on either side of him, and caught his lapels within the grip of one hand, dangling him over the edge. Kirra found her feet then. The hilarity of the situation had gone.

"Tauthé don't!" She scrambled to their side, grabbing hold of the sheik's left hand in case he fell.

"Is he a threat?"

"The only threat here is you," the sheik cried.

"No," Kirra said.

Amber eyes glowed like emblazoned embers upon the sheik. "Who is he, then?"

"No one of any significance—"

" _Hey!"_

"But he's not an enemy. He helped me get out of Corinth when the attack began."

Tauthé's amber eyes smoldered and began to cool. "Attack? What happened?"

"Oh nothing," said the sheik. "You're friend only would have become a pile of ash if it weren't for me. Now put me down…on the ground over there."

The sheik pointed, loosening one fold of his robes and revealing a portion of the loot he'd stolen. Several items, gold chalices and silver temple idols, were bound to a green tunic underneath the robe, but it was an ornate box bound at his waist that drew Tauthé's eyes and pulled a gasp from her mouth. She pulled with all she had, tossing the sheik to the safety of the ground beside the well, and at the same time, snatching the box from the hook at his waist.

Kirra expelled a breath of relief and leaned against the well, but the sheik had other priorities. He jumped to his feet and reached for the box Tauthé had taken.

"Give that back! That's mine!"

" _This box_ is no more yours than the robe on your shoulders. You're a theft, and where I come from thieves are put to death."

The sheik straightened his robes, unafraid of her threats, and righted his turban once more. "You don't say. If I'm right, where you come from there's also a law that states the same can happen to one who harbors a runaway slave." He lifted his chin in Kirra's direction and watched his statement sedate the dark-skinned slave girl. She softened her stance, but curiosity shone in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right, slave girl. I've been to Babylonia. It's important for a thief to know the law of the land. Helps in his… _endeavors_. That's why I also know that box is no more yours than the blue dress you're wearing. So, who's calling who a thief?"

The sheik's bold claims didn't distress Kirra. She knew the dangers involved in helping a runaway slave. Even in Greece, the fines for such an act were steep. Yet, she'd eschewed the thought of reprisals in order to give the girl a fighting chance of making it on her own. It was her right as a human being on this earth. No one had the right to claim her as their property if it wasn't what she wanted, no matter the country. Still, it appeared that the sheik was right. Tauthé also was not the owner of the box. That didn't stop her from holding the box close to her person, keeping it out of reach of the man before her, though her stature fell from that of the fighter to one she wore most often—the lowly slave.

"It belonged to my master," Tauthé said, averting her eyes. "When he finds that the box is gone, it will torture him." She gave Kirra a brief glimpse of her defiance and self-justification before she continued. "It's no more than he deserves. These will provide me the protection he would never have given me were I in Shamshi's service." Noting the lock that had graced the ornate box was gone, Tauthé cast the sheik a suspicious glance. "Though, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

A wary expression crossed the sheik's face, but he hid it with an expert tug on his goateed chin. He seemed, for the moment, unconcerned, but he was just as knowledgeable as Tauthé as to what she would find once she opened the box, which turned out to be nothing. The box was empty save for two velvet indentions in the shape of curved daggers.

"Where are they?" Tauthé asked, each word carefully enunciated.

The sheik smiled and patted his chunky midsection full of pilfered prizes. "Let's just say they're in safe keeping."

Tauthé reached but not in nearly enough time. Always thinking two steps ahead, the sheik was. He had proved his acumen on more than one occasion in Corinth, and it would appear, he was more of an acrobat than Kirra would have ever imagined, for he duped them once again, leaping to reach a heavy branch overhead. Using the branch and his long legs to gain momentum, he swung himself higher into the tree and out of Tauthé's reach. From a vantage point high above, he looked down on them and laughed.

"Sorry, little slave girl, but as they say in my trade, 'Finders keepers, losers weepers.'" With that, he lifted the blue turban from his head, gave it a fanciful twirl and let them see the underside that had hugged so snuggly to his head. There, nestled and partially buried within, were two ivory-handled daggers.

Kirra crossed her arms, showing her displeasure. "No wonder that turban looked so ridiculous on you."

"Tricks of the trade, my dear," he said, twirling his mustache. "You see, I came to Corinth particularly for these daggers. When I met up with you inside the dock gates, I had already pilfered them from Nergal…" He pointed at Tauthé. "…that one's master. Nergal and I have an old rivalry concerning his lovely wife Shamshi. She and I were meant to be together, but alas, she loves riches and society life more than she loves a lowly thief like myself."

"Shamshi loves herself more than she loves anything," Tauthé said with tight lips and clenched fists.

"Right you are, slave girl, and I've since come to my senses. So, I thought what better way to get back at that old dunghill cock than to take from him what he loves most." The sheik placed the turban back on his head. "Never did I think I'd run into you, Kirra. You gave me a way out when the guard presence at the docks had become too heavy, and when the loot at Hera's got too hot to handle, you and your otherworldly pursuer provided me with the perfect distraction to get out of Corinth for good. Now, if you don't mind, ladies, I've really got to be going before Nergal realizes his prized possession is missing."

Kirra smiled up at the sheik while placing a calming hand on Tauthé's wrist. She felt the tension within the girl. She would abandon all thought of escape in order to get those daggers back, but neither of them had the luxury of time. Before long, Tauthé's enslavers and her own "otherworldly pursuer" would find them if they didn't get moving. They weren't so far from the city gates that they were in any way protected within the olive tree grove.

"I do appreciate your help in escaping, more than once, Prince Asheraf…if that is indeed your real name…" To which, the sheik smirked. "…but do you think, just once more, you could help me before you leave."

He seemed to consider her request, then, raised his eyebrows. "Help you with what?"

Kirra filled her voice with just the right amount of fear. She had a feeling the good sheik was a sucker for a damsel in distress. "Don't leave us unprotected. _Please._ I fear the two of us will not escape our pursuers without you."

Just as she had suspected, the sheik's brows drew together, but so did his lips into a smirk of frustration. She'd found a way to pull his heart strings when he desperately wanted to make good his escape. There was a good man hiding somewhere within the arrogant thief.

"Would you really leave us unprotected to be caught by the cruel hands of a man you despise, or to be incinerated at the hands of Hera's monster?"

His resolve was crumbling. Kirra could actually watch it happening. His shoulders were drooping and the frustrated smirk cut deeper into him. Soon, he would be sighing and jumping down from his perch, ready to give over the daggers willingly.

Well, that's what would have happened had Tauthé not pulled from Kirra's grasp, jerked the grappling hook from where the sheik had embedded it in the well, and expertly tossed it to the branch he had perched upon. He jumped back, his resolve returning with vigor.

"Ha-ha," he said, stepping forward on the branch as lightly as an acrobat on a tight wire. "You're good, Kirra, but not as good as the King of Thieves."

He eyed Tauthé below him struggling to climb the grappling hooks rope while wearing a farm girl's dress. Tauthé might have made the climb with little effort were she dressed in her own outfit. In Kirra's dress, she wasn't getting very far, and with Nergal's dagger in the sheik's hand, Tauthé wasn't going anywhere at all. He knelt and placed the dagger where it knotted at the hook's base.

"Sorry, slave girl, but ropes are a dinar a dozen." He sliced and Tauthé fell.

Kirra ran to catch her, but she hadn't climbed high for the fall to do her any damage. She landed on her own two feet, physically safe and sound. Mentally and emotionally, Kirra wasn't so sure, particularly when she let out a cry that could curdle a man's blood…though, not every man. The sheik laughed and pulled the grappling hook from the branch's bark.

"Nergal's daggers and my grappling hook, however, are priceless," he added with a wicked grin.

"I'll make you sorry one day! I promise you!"

"You can try, slave girl, you can try. Kirra, if you're ever looking to leave your mundane life behind, I'd love to train you. You've got potential."

"I'd rather clean privies for a living."

"Okay," he said rather dubiously. "Your loss. Well, ladies, it's been nice knowing you, but I've got to scramble." He looked into the distance where the city of Corinth lay in whatever ruins the flaming-haired creature had left it, and frowned. "If I were you two, I'd get moving…and quickly."

They both turned, the unmistakable sound of approaching voices and clomping horses hooves on the road reaching their ears.

"What do we do?" Tauthé asked, her anger melting into fear.

Grabbing up the cloak which now lay in a heap at the foot of the well, Kirra tossed it to the girl. "We move. I know a place we can lay low for the night. Come on!"

She took the girl's hand and they ran, keeping to the thickest part of the woods where they might remain hidden from the road. Kirra chanced one more glance upward at the branch where she had last seen the sheik, the prince, the so-called King of Thieves. Like a shadow on the ground that appears and then dissipates, he was gone as though he had never been there.

* * *

 **Two more chapters to go. In Chapter 7, Kirra takes Tauthé to a safe place.**


	7. Chapter 7

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey  
_**

* * *

 _Chapter 7_

Curtains tightly drawn, lamp light doused; all was quiet outside the home of Alcmene and Jason. Starlight twinkled up above and the light of the waxing moon cast an unearthly light upon the ground, deepening the shadows and making every dark corner suspect. Inside, the shadows were just as plentiful, but they were welcome. They helped to hide the two young women hiding within its enfolding darkness. They felt safe, protected, as though in affectionate arms.

It wasn't the way Kirra would have wanted to welcome a guest into Alcmene's home, but they hadn't much choice. After fleeing the olive grove, the two had felt pursued the entire way. Voices and the threat of approaching feet seemed to follow them. There had been no time for conversation, no time to ask questions of the other, about the past, about what had happened in Corinth. Instead, they had moved stealthily, silently through the woods off the road. For that reason, it had been nearly dark when they arrived at the house nestled a ways off the road within a cluster of forest trees. Kirra had led the two of them toward the back of the house, having diverged from the road some time before, leaving the voices behind. Still, they had waited for nearly an hour before entering. They hugged the edge of the woods, watching and listening, and waiting for the blanket of night.

Jason had well secured the house before he and Alcmene left. Thank the gods Kirra hadn't been foolish enough to abandon her key when she absconded earlier in the day. They went in, 'battened down the hatches' so to speak, and huddled in the darkness to wait out the night. It wasn't long, though, before another voice came calling.

Grumbling was more like it. Tauthé put a hand over her belly. "Sorry."

Kirra breathed a laugh. "I'm hungry too."

They hid beneath the alcove of stairs that led up to Kirra's bedroom, not far from the rear door and down a short hall from the main part of the house. Across the hall from them were the entrances to Jason and Alcmene's bedroom and the indoor bathhouse (another gift from King Iphicles) with its wooden tub big enough for two. The agony of it was filling it with enough hot water for bathing. Too troublesome for Jason. They claimed to use it only on special occasions, but they hadn't in the time Kirra had been there. She was wishing there was warm water in it now, readily accessible for the two of them to sink into. Without the warmth of the hearth this time of year, it was cold in the house.

"Hold on," Kirra whispered and disappeared to the front of the house before Tauthé had a chance to protest.

She snuck quietly into the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboards, careful not to creak the hinges. In the storehouse outside, Kirra was certain there were dried meats they could feed on, but not with the possible threat lurking in the night's shadows. She wasn't willing to risk it, not just for the sake of putting a little food in their bellies. Feeling in the dark, Kirra's searching fingers found exactly what she was looking for.

"Oh, Alcmene, I love you."

Wrapped in linen to prevent spoiling was a small loaf of bread and a block of cheese. Alcmene would think of her, even after she left them with nothing but an unfeeling letter of goodbye. Tears welled in Kirra's eyes. That was Alcmene, always hoping for the best. She wouldn't have left spoilable food in the cupboard unless she thought there would be someone to eat it. How could she have known?

Kirra smiled and thought, _Well, she's not the mother of Hercules for nothing._

Too bad she couldn't have preserved a couple glasses of warm goat's milk to go with it. Satisfied with what she had, Kirra snuck back to Tauthé's side. Setting the bread in her lap, Kirra broke it and gave half to her.

"Here," she whispered. "This ought to keep us sated until morning."

Tauthé breathed in deeply of the bread's aroma before taking a bite. "By the gods, how is this possible? Are you in contact with the goddess Nissaba as well?"

"Who?" Kirra asked around a bite of bread.

"Nissaba, a Babylonian goddess. My people look to her during the harvest of grain. She is said to bring much bounty."

"Said to?"

"Well, yeah."

"But do you believe it?"

There was silence from Tauthé's corner of the darkness, but Kirra could hear when she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I'm a house slave. I've only heard tales."

A deep sense of regret floated in the air from Tauthé's lips to Kirra's ears. She could only wonder at the girl's meaning, but she wouldn't waste breath letting her stir miserably in it. "To answer your question…" she began. "This bread came from the only goddess in my world. Her name is Alcmene."

"Is she a goddess of Greece?" Tauthé asked with all sincerity.

Kirra tried not to laugh. "No. She is just a woman, but truly one of the best I've ever known. She took me in when I had nowhere else to go."

Darkness hid the recognition that lit in Tauthé's eyes. "You live here."

"Yes…well, I did until this morning." Kirra hung her head. "I sort of ran away."

"To consort with the goddess in the temple?"

"No," Kirra said with a fervent shake of her head. "I'm not in contact with any goddess."

"But, I saw—"

"You saw a girl facing temptation and turning away from it. Perhaps you did see a goddess. Who am I to judge? But to me, she was just a lure, meant to pull me away from my duty. I have to get home to my mother. She's alone and it's my fault."

"Where is she?"

"Many miles north in a small village called Endor. I had to leave unexpectedly almost a year ago and I haven't seen her since."

"Then," Tauthé said with a small voice. "That means I, too, am keeping you from your duty."

Kirra reached for Tauthé's hand in the dark. "No. To help you was my choice. Besides, after what happened in Corinth today, it seems I wasn't going anywhere anyway."

"What did happen? I saw the smoke in the distance, heard explosions. The _thief_ spoke of you nearly being incinerated?"

Kirra sucked in a breath and expelled it heavily. Should she tell Tauthé of the creature that had invaded Corinth? To tell her of it meant telling of Hera. Speaking of Hera meant speaking of the horrors she had brought upon Hercules. Then, would come the story of Hercules himself, and eventually, she would have to tell her how they met. She didn't know if she was ready to divulge the whole story, let alone have the breath for it. It had been a long day and she was tired.

"It's a long story," she finally said after a moment of silence. "Suffice it to say, you're not the only one being pursued."

"That's right. He also mentioned something about a flaming-haired creature. Is it a demon of some sort?"

Kirra frowned and thought. "I guess you could say that. She threw bolts of flame. I've never seen anything like that before."

"Why is she after you?"

"I wish I—"

A board on the front porch creaked. The two of them froze like granite statues, waiting to hear the sound of a footfall or the jiggle of the doorknob. Neither came in the passing seconds.

"Wait here," Tauthé whispered.

Before Kirra could chance breathing a sigh of relief, Tauthé was sneaking from underneath the stairwell and slinking up the hall toward the living room.

"Tauthé, wait!" Kirra hissed and tried to reach for her, but the girl was too fast. She snuck out of their hiding place herself and watching her moonlit silhouette move as quiet as death toward the window. Not a board creaked underneath her slight feet. The only sound that came to Kirra's ears in the dark was the soft dragging of the dress across the floor. Had Tauthé been wearing her own clothes, she might not have made a sound.

Tense seconds passed while Kirra watched the former slave crouched like a ghost near the window, peeking through the drawn curtains into the night. She blended so well with the dark, Kirra couldn't tell where the curtains began and Tauthé ended. With a blink, she lost sight of her altogether. The layout of this house was one Kirra knew well. The girl couldn't have just disappeared. But could something have happened that she hadn't seen? If there were some commotion, Kirra would have heard it. She tried not to let fear get the best of her. Getting control of her breathing, she peered through the darkness, looking for any sort of movement until moonlight caught the curve of a back and lit a mass of thick, dark braids. The girl was right beside her. How did she do that?

"Don't worry," Tauthé whispered. "It must have been an animal. A deer, maybe. I didn't see anyone."

It was on the tip of Kirra's tongue to ask her how she had learned to move so through the darkness, but she held it. She was liable to receive the same reply—long story.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I see well in the dark. I always have. We're safe."

Giving vent to her relief, Kirra rested her head against the wall. "Well, then, maybe we should save what's left of our food for tomorrow and try to get some sleep."

" _Try_ being the operative word."

Kirra gave her a smile in the dark. "As long as you give me a few pointers on moving in silence. The stairs to my bedroom are notoriously noisy."

"We could stay downstairs."

"I have an excellent escape route from my window. Trust me, it works wonders."

"Okay," Tauthé said, though Kirra detected a note of uncertainty. "Think light and you'll be light."

With her own note of uncertainty, Kirra said, "Of course. Think light."

While creatures roused by the light of the moon came to life and the quiet of night abounded, the two of them crept up the stairs to Kirra's bedroom. Kirra realized she wasn't nearly as good at thinking light as the former slave was. With each step, the old wooden stairs that Jason kept promising to fix one day, made sounds as loud as explosions to Kirra's ears. They took them two at a time and got away with no more than two or three unavoidable creaks. More than enough, in Kirra's estimation.

As they slipped into the bedroom and Kirra closed and bolted the door, she wondered if Tauthé's abilities came from life as a slave. As a child, she too had learned how to step lightly when her stepfather was around. Was the same true of Tauthé? Had she adapted to the moods of her master to avoid a beating, or worse?

It felt good to remove the leather outfit and slip into one of her own, promising Tauthé she would wash her clothes free of caked mud in the morning. Kirra wasn't used to such clothing. Still, she thought it best to remain fully clothed just in case. She donned one of her old dresses. It was worn and there were tatters at the hem, but it would do if they had to rush out in a hurry.

They snuggled under the warmth of the blankets and tried to sleep. After a time, heavy sighs from both of them said sleep would take a while.

"I hope I'm not keeping you awake," Kirra said.

She heard Tauthé's giggle beside her. "I was about to say the same thing. Tell me, what's it like to be free?"

Shocked, Kirra tried hard to read the girl's eyes in the light of the moon. She had no idea how to answer the question. "How long have you been in slavery?"

"As long as I can remember I've been in the house of Lady Shamshi. I vaguely remember having a mother. Though I've tried, I cannot recall what she looks like, but I'm told her name was Omarosa."

Kirra remember the promise she'd given Tauthé, to have the chance to speak her true name. With all that happened by the well, the chance had never come to pass. She could ask, but she didn't want to take choice from the girl's hands, not now that she had it for the first time in her life. Kirra would give Tauthé the time she needed to speak of her true name when she was ready.

"What a beautiful name," Kirra said, drawing a smile from Tauthé.

"They say she died when I was a small child and that my father, who was poor and couldn't afford to care for us, had no choice but to sell me and my sisters into slavery."

"I'm so sorry, Tauthé."

"It's all right," she said, propping herself up on her elbow. "This is what happens in our society. I'm a part of a class of people known as the Wardu—slaves. There are two other classes of higher rank than mine. The Mushkenu and the Awilu. Lady Shamshi and her husband Nergal are of the Awilu, free people of rank and privilege. The Mushkenu are the working class. They do not have the same privileges as the Awilu and sometimes, when times are hard, they must do what they have to, even if that means selling their children."

"The Greeks have their social hierarchy, too, and their slaves, but people generally have the freedom to do what they want. Generally. Women are somewhat subjugated. Men say her place is in the home, raising children. But that's not what I want. There's a whole world out there and I want to explore it."

"That's exactly how I feel. I'm tired of having my life decided by another. I'd rather die than continue living as another person's property."

"Is that why you ran away?"

She shrugged. "Partly. I had always wanted to explore the world as a child, but I was mostly content in the home of Shamshi's father. When she married Nergal, a prominent man of the Awilu, things changed. The bride price for her included me, separating me from my sisters."

"Oh no."

"But that's not the worst part. I was promised to Nergal as a…" Tauthé shuddered. "…a concubine."

Kirra felt her blood run cold and resisted a shudder of her own. She had seen Nergal. He was a bull of a man, as big as her stepfather.

"That's why we came to Corinth. Nergal wanted more concubines, because Shamshi is barren. I had to attempt escape. I knew I would have no chance in Babylonia, but _in Corinth_ , a port city where people from all over could be found, I could disappear into the crowd and they would never find me."

"But, what about you're sisters?"

"My sisters are safe for now. I can't be captured, Kirra, and I won't go back there. Not now. Nergal won't kill me if he catches me, but he will make me suffer. He'll make my sisters suffer. And you…the thief was right…you'd be captured and returned to Babylonia for execution just for helping me."

The stakes were rising steadily. Not only did one of Hera's minions want her dead, but now a high ranking man of Babylonia as well. Kirra almost laughed. She was now just as wanted as Hercules.

"Well, then, I guess we'd best get you somewhere safe. The question is, where?"

"There is one place I have in mind. My eldest sister once told me the name of a city where father is said to dwell. Do you think you could help me find it?"

"I don't know. I've only ever lived in Greece, and my travels throughout it haven't been as lengthy as I had once hoped it to be."

"The place I'm looking for _is_ in Greece…though, I don't know how to pronounce it."

"Can you spell it?"

"I can try. I've seen it in your letters once before."

Tauthé took Kirra's hand and attempted to spell out the words into her palm. Though the room was dark enough, Kirra closed her eyes to try and picture the letters as Tauthé drew them out. She saw it as clearly as if she were writing upon parchment with ink and quill. The name consisted of four letters, each with its own unique representation. There was no doubting the name Tauthé had spelled onto the palm of her hand. Kirra's eyes opened in surprise.

" _Thebes!_ You want to go to Thebes?"

"Yes, that's it. Why? Is there something wrong?"

As the shock wore off, Kirra shook her head. "No, no. Nothing is wrong. Thebes, it is. We'll head out first thing in the morning."

Tauthé reached out suddenly and hugged her. "Thank you, Kirra. Thank you so much for all that you're doing for me. I know you want to get home to your mother, and that if things had gone differently, that's exactly where you'd be. Thank you."

Kirra whispered a welcome, but as they each settled into slumber, their breathing growing heavier and deeper, she couldn't help but think on the words of Aphrodite, _"…you become a person of great importance with great influence and you'll affect the lives of many people."_ Was Tauthé one of them? Or her father, if he even existed in Thebes? As hard as she fought to keep from going to Thebes, to keep out of sight of Hercules, and even Benjamin, it seemed she was to have no choice in the matter. Had Aphrodite been telling the truth? Was her destiny told in a spun thread?

Whatever the answer, or the outcome, her path now led toward Thebes, and toward Hercules. Her heartache didn't matter. She had a mission and it was never more clear to her than it was now. She had to warn Hercules of what was coming, and help Tauthé find her father at the same time. She just hoped she wasn't too late.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Kirra's Journey_**

 ** _Episode 4: The Longest Journey  
_**

* * *

 _Chapter 8_

The hanging gardens of Babylonia were said to be one of the wonders of the world. Constructed by man, "the hanging gardens" were so coined because of their construction upon a towering mountain made of mud bricks. Sounds rather drab, but these were no mere mud bricks slapped one upon the other. Some of Babylonia's greatest artists carved, decorated, or painted upon them. The hanging gardens rose nearly four hundred feet into the sky, a colorful spire upon their lands. With the gentle slope of a hillside, it rose in tiers, each tier encompassing the weight of greenery of all sorts. Flowering vines, shrubs and trees so numerous they formed a kind of natural roof for the stone walkways that ascended to the top. Lavish in the extreme, the man-made gardens were said to contain lodgings for the royals at its summit.

Wonder of the world? Hera laughed. That was nothing in comparison to her garden situated upon Mount Olympus's highest hill. There wasn't a single thing constructed by the hand of humans. Everything in it was the product of her own ingenuity.

Though open to the high altitude air, she carefully controlled the temperature and the pressure so that she could grow whatever was to her liking. Willow trees were among her most favorite, and vining wisteria of the softest lavender bloomed year round. A terrace off of her living quarters boasted some of the reddest roses, and her cherry tree grove which put out blooms of the deepest fuchsia was the most renowned in all of Olympia.

But, it was the orchid garden Hera prided most. Its centerpiece was a round, two-tiered water feature. On either side were sculpted peacocks, made to look as if they were frolicking in the flowing water. Surrounding it were her orchids, though not the colorful or varied sort one might imagine. Only one type grew here, the black orchid, one of Hera's making. Painstakingly she grafted different species together until she had made one that represented what her heart had become. Painted a deep violet, the flower's petals appeared black unless one looked closely. At its center, the dark violet softened into purple and lavender and then into white. Right at its throat, a golden yellow. Like her heart, something golden glowed within, but she could no longer feel it, surrounded as it was by darkness, by a violent violet of hatred.

Here she stood, listening to the trickle of water and the distant call of the peacock, surrounded by a turbulent sea of dark violet, when a sensation worked its way from the base of her spine to the back of her neck. She turned, her dark skirts swishing over cobbled mountain stone, to see her enforcer standing before her. The confidence it had imbued when it first came to her mountain home had waned.

"Well," Hera asked. "Did you find her?"

"I did, my Queen, but she escaped me."

Despite the lack of its earlier bravado, it met Hera's eyes without fear. Hera expected no less. It was a creature without feeling, without remorse, without the ability to love. Its one purpose was loyalty to Hera and no one else. It would remain loyal whether Hera destroyed her or not, and she was thinking seriously about it.

Hera clenched her fists. _"She escaped you?"_

"Forgive me, my Queen, but she is as you said…sly. There was a man dressed in royal robes. He helped her escape the city, but I will find them. I will find them both and I will crush them."

Hera turned from the orange-haired creature of Hephaestus's making. She didn't fit in here. She was not as refined, not as Hera would have wanted her to look, not like the first one. The first one, an enforcer of her own making, dark like the orchids, suited her dark soul to a tee, but this one was stronger. This one was not to be defeated. Not by Hercules and surely not by some slip of a girl!

"No," she finally said, missing the raised eyebrow of the creature behind her. She touched her finger to the soft petal of one orchid, its white iris seeming to stare up at her in adoration. She drew peace from it. To lash out in anger at this point would be to admit failure.

Hera turned to face its questioning gaze. "Go to Thebes. There you'll find Hercules, you'll find his friends and you'll find the one he loves the most—his mother."

"What am I to do, my Queen?"

"Start with my temples. When it comes to worship, Thebes is worse than Corinth. The people of Corinth still have some sense, but the people of Thebes have bathed in Hercules's good graces for far too long."

"How do I find him?"

"Start by teaching the people of Thebes a lesson, and Hercules will find you."

"And the girl?"

"You needn't concern yourself with her anymore. Go now."

Hera waved her hand in the air and it disappeared in a glow of flame. She knew it questioned the wisdom of leaving the girl to her own devices, but Hera didn't care about the concerns of a creature she herself had made. Turning from where it once stood, she returned her touch to the orchid's dark petal, closing her eyes and drinking in its gentle strength. When she opened her icy blue eyes, she felt renewed and her purpose clear.

"I'll deal with the girl…"

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 _To be continued…_

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 **Thanks for reading.**


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